


bloodsport

by tofiveohfive



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, American Football, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friday Night Lights AU, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Break Up, Rimming, Underage Drinking, except less self destructive, harry is kind of like tim riggins, liam might be matt saracen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-03-05 09:46:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13385238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofiveohfive/pseuds/tofiveohfive
Summary: “You know how our next game is against the Cardinals, right? You remember how vicious those guys can get. I wanted us to come up with some plays, maybe work on a block from the left—”Louis stops when he hears a chuckle.He doesn’t think he’s said anything particularly funny, so he turns to Harry, waiting for an explanation.“‘S funny, ‘s all.” Harry throws his finished bottle somewhere near the other discarded ones. “This is the first time you’re talking to me in eight months, and it’sstillabout football.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in the works for what feels like a million years and i cannot believe i'm actually putting it out here.
> 
> all my knowledge of american football comes from the show and what i could find on google, so i'd like to apologize in advance for any weird descriptions of football activity. also, this is pretty much un-betad, so if you notice any mistakes, please let me know! 
> 
> thanks to amber, for dealing with my obsession with an fnl AU for years, and to roxy, for her undying patience and endless words of advice while i freaked out over this.
> 
> title from raleigh ritchie's 'bloodsport'.
> 
> EDIT (19/08/18): ok, so it was brought to my attention that the descriptions of the football scenes weren't as accurate as i'd like them to be. the wonderful [katlyn](https://harryisapackersfan.tumblr.com/) helped me out with that stuff, though, and i'm happy to say the football bits are considerably less cringey now. i apologize for the pain that those bits might have caused to the real football fans out there. feel free to tell me if anything is still horribly wrong.

“Radio 128.AM, it is game day, people!”

Louis’ hold on the wheel tightens, nervous energy flowing through his veins.

“The long drought is over and our boys will finally be under the Friday night lights again. It is time to play some football! After last year’s hugely successful performance, coach Taylor and the Groves Falcons have big shoes to fill.”

They had come out the regular season unscathed. They had smashed the regional playoffs. Had soared through the quarterfinals and fought their way through the semifinals. They had won State.

“With Stan Lucas leaving for college and being signed by the great Houston Tigers, Liam Payne will have to work hard to prove that he deserves to be the Falcons’ QB1.”

It’s just past six in the afternoon and the streets are mostly empty, which comes as no surprise, after all, _it is game day, people!_

Another booming voice joins the first one on the radio, heavy accent drawling the words. “Not to mention that we also lost Greg James, one of the best fullbacks the people in this town have ever seen.”

“That’s right, David. Right now, our hopes and dreams lie on the shoulders of the bright and young Harry Styles. And I’ll go on the record saying that our chances look good, ladies and gentlemen.”

“For those of you who don’t remember, Styles stepped up when James got himself a nasty leg injury playing against the Cougars. His outstanding performance helped the Falcons get through the Austin Titans and the Allen Bears.”

Louis is still a few blocks away from the stadium, but he can already see the long queue of cars waiting to get through the main gate, into the parking lot. He can also see the first dark blue signs pointing in the stadium’s direction, all with heartfelt words written on them, next to some drawings of the team’s signature mascot.

_Go, Falcons!_

_Groves Falcons - State Champions 2017!_

_This ain’t no Lions place_

_#28 is our lucky number_

The last one makes Louis smile.

“I’m sure they all remember Styles just fine, Jordan. When everything seemed to be lost against the Bears, Styles managed to put up a big block on their middle linebacker, Samuel Williams, allowing Tomlinson to run free to the end zone and giving us the touchdown that took us all the way to the State quarterfinals.”

“Speaking of Tomlinson, do we think he’s going to be able to keep his team in check, now that he’ll have to play without Lucas? We all know they were Groves’ Phenomenal Duo. I’m sure it will be hard now, without his favorite QB’s support.”

“Well, I have complete faith in our running back! Tommo has been starting for three seasons now, he knows what he’s doing. The entire state of Texas learned what his legs are able to do, when he scored a 40-yard dash of 4.31 seconds.”

Louis feels his chest expand with pride at that. That had been one of his greatest accomplishments, along with winning State Championship.

He drives slowly to the smaller opening gate, the one reserved exclusively for players and the coaching staff. There are a few people gathered around, walking towards the main entrance. He hears a shout that sounds like “Go Tommo, Go!” and smiles, honking twice in quick succession.

“And don’t the Lions know all about our gunner’s fast legs,” the man on the radio laughs.

Louis chuckles. He remembers the playoff game against the Lions, last year. The defensive line had been closing in on him, but he still had been able to run past the three players from the opposite team, leaving them behind with astonished looks on their faces, and rushing for a touchdown, ultimately winning the game for his team.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out if Tommo can or cannot handle his own later tonight, when the Falcons are scheduled to play against the Dallas Lions, for a game that might define--”

Louis turns off the radio, parking his car beside Niall Horan’s 1990 Honda Civic. Its rear windshield is covered in stickers, most of them pretty harmless. One of a football helmet, a couple of the Falcons’ logo, some similar to the signs Louis had encountered on the street. Only one is really standing out, spelling “we don’t need LUCK, we’ve got NIALLER” in bold yellow letters. Louis scoffs. Only Niall can get away with this shit.

He grabs his cleats and his duffel bag in the passenger seat, locks up the car and heads to the locker room.

The first thing he sees when he enters the room is a very distressed looking Liam Payne hurriedly stumbling towards the toilets, followed by a retching sound not five seconds later. _Well, that sounds promising_.

He sits on the bench in front of his locker and drops his duffel on the floor, next to his feet. He misses Stan always, but at moments like these, he misses Stan _a lot._

He feels someone clapping him on the back before he hears a very loud, very irish voice. “Twenty-eight! Thank God, you’re finally here. Payne is losing it. Don’t fancy our chances if that lad doesn’t stop throwing up soon.” Niall throws a wary glance towards the dry heaving sounds that can be heard from the small locker room bathroom.

Louis sighs. “Has Coach arrived yet?”

“Yeah, he’s in his office, talking to Crowley and Miller. My guess is he’s going over the plays for the game. _Again_.” The roll of his eyes makes it clear how unnecessary Niall thinks that is. Louis doesn’t disagree.

Much like it had been said on the radio, they have big shoes to fill this year, so Coach has made it his life’s mission to play the absolute best kickoff game the Falcons have ever played. In order to reassure the board members and the sponsors, Coach wants to prove that the great losses the team had suffered will be compensated in effort.

The result had been Coach showing up at Louis’ doorstep at half past eight on Tuesday night, asking Louis to “move his ass to school immediately” because “they needed to talk strategy”.

The talk had consisted in him, Liam and Harry, sitting side by side on the old uncomfortable chairs in Coach’s office, while Coach went over the plays. Over and over _and over_ again.

Since Liam was the newest addition to the starting team, having never started a game for the Falcons before, he was hesitant to speak up when Coach asked them questions and pointed out their adversaries strengths, leaving Louis and Harry to fend for themselves.

It took them three hours to convince Coach that, yes, they _were_ prepared, they’ve _got_ this, now could he _please_ let them go home.

It had been a tiring, and yet, very satisfying night. Even though there had been some tense moments - whether because of the weight they felt on their shoulders or because Harry was visibly disheartened - it was clear that, at the end of the day, they all had the same goal, and it felt good to be one of the leading minds working to achieve it.

Upon realizing where his thoughts drifted to, Louis curses himself for breaking the cautiously placed mind block he had set for himself. _No Harry musings tonight. No overthinking any of that bullshit._

Well, there goes that already, and he literally _just_ entered the locker room. His willpower is truly admirable.

He might as well dive right in.

“Is--” he clears his throat, turning to Niall again “Is Styles in yet?”

He tells himself it’s somewhat justified, his concern, since this is Louis’ first game as captain and Harry, his brand new starting fullback, has been known for never arriving on time for things.

Niall nods towards the end of the locker room and, surely enough, when Louis turns to look, there he is. In all his long hair, shirtless glory. His hair has gotten longer, Louis notices.

Like he can feel the weight of Louis’ loaded stare, Harry suddenly looks up from his phone, which he had been tapping on. His eyes meet Louis’ and Louis feels a shiver run down his spine. They haven’t talked since December. Not a word.

On Tuesday, they had carefully danced around one another, avoiding each other’s eyes and sitting on different ends of the short line Coach had set for the three of them. In fact, Louis is certain poor Payne’s skin was itching by the end of the meeting, having had to deal with the waves of tension rolling off both of them for hours.  

Right now, Harry’s eyes are meeting his and they’re apathetic.

Louis swallows, looking down at his feet and starting to undo the ties on his Vans.

“Alright, okay. I’ll go deal with Liam. Don’t worry your pretty blonde head.” He smiles up at Niall. “We’ve got this.”

Chancing another look in Harry’s direction, he sees the fullback taking off his necklaces and gently putting them inside his locker. “We’ve got this,” he whispers.

⬬

Payne gets himself together around the end of the second quarter, and, luckily for them, things are not _too_ fucked up by then that they can’t be saved.

Payne passes, Horan tackles, Scott catches, Devine scores, Styles blocks, Tomlinson runs.

Styles blocks. Harry manages to keep two giant Lions players away from Louis. When the play ends with Louis scoring a touchdown, Harry smiles, all endearing two front teeth and dimple, and hugs Niall around the waist.

Louis swallows down his disappointment. He’s the one that finished the stupid play. Surely Harry could spare him a nod or something.

He takes comfort in the enthusiastic group hug he receives from the other players and, after he sees a very excited ball boy giving him the thumbs up, Louis feels a sincere smile working its way to his face.

At the end of the 60 minutes, they are three points ahead and, while that’s not the ideal outcome, it’s enough to give them their first win of the season.

⬬

Following the tradition, there’s a party afterwards. Because they have just won and because high schoolers can turn anything into an excuse to get illegally drunk.

“And then, Tommo right here, he just,” Payne takes a large gulp of his drink. “He just snatches the ball! Six feet up in the air!” He finishes excitedly. Louis thinks he might be exaggerating a tiny bit, but that doesn’t stop him from staying put under the heavy weight of Liam’s arm, pressed to his side.

A few girls, some of them from the cheerleading squad, join in to listen to Liam recall the game’s best moments - Louis laughs particularly loud when he tells them about the little dance Niall performed when they got to the lockers, after winning. The people around them are all smiling wide at the quarterback, as he mimics the ridiculous moves Niall had pulled with even more flourish. Alcohol had turned his cheeks a warm shade of pink and, right now, he seems nothing like the frightened boy Louis had to gently pull from the bathroom stall floor. Louis quite likes drunk Liam.

“Okay, Liam, but you need to tell them about the best part,” says Josh, one of the boys from the team. “When that sophomore cornered Styles leaving the lockers.”

Louis feels his muscles stiffen.

“She brought him homemade _muffins_!” Niall cackles, burying his red face in Josh’s shoulder. He spills his drink with the force of his laughter. “Our very own Harry Styles, resident beer drinking, laid-back guy, receiving homemade muffins.”

“In her defense, they tasted great. I’m glad he shared those.” That brings another round of laughter out of the group.

What happened was, the sophomore had shown up right when they were leaving the locker room, after Coach had finished his very inspiring and long after-game speech. Louis had been talking to Scott, about a interception the boy had made during the game, but, still, he hadn’t been distracted enough to miss the girl appearing out of thin air, uncomfortably shuffling her feet and handing Harry a _charming_ jar filled with _freshly made_ muffins.

Louis remembers the smirk Harry had on his face, lethal dimples out full force, whatever he had been saying in thanks turning the red on the girl’s cheeks even more prominent.

“They really didn’t seem all that good, to be honest.” He blurts out before he can remember he’s not supposed to give a fuck.

Luckily, they’re all quite tipsy and too happy with their first win to look too deep into that.

“Oh, c’mon, captain! You’re just jealous because you don’t have someone making you sweet honey cookies!” If it wasn’t for the relief at the change of subject, Louis would be hurt that Liam is the first to turn on him.

“Tommo just wants a nice boy to decorate his locker with glittery hearts, and to take home to meet his mama,” Josh teases.

“Are you in need of some loving, twenty-eight?” mocks Niall, now pulling Louis to his side and messily petting his hair. “Is that what this is? Do you want some kisses?”

“You’re all insufferable,” he laughs, pushing Niall’s pouting lips away. “The only thing I need is a refill, to help me through the night with your drunk asses. I’ll be right back.”

And that’s the thing. He will drink until he forgets all about boys and muffins. He refuses to let anything ruin his mood tonight. The season is off to a good start, his teammates are some of his favorite people and he’s at the top of his game. He’s the captain of the Groves Falcons and he’s going to take his boys all the way up to State Championship. He has no time to waste worrying about muffins.

Besides, the stupid things had cinnamon topping. Harry _despises_ cinnamon.

He tries not to feel too self-satisfied at that.

 ⬬

Turns out Liam Payne is kind of a mess.

“Son! Payne! What on earth are you doing, son?!” Louis is pretty sure Coach is about to have a heart attack. “L-Right 44 lead bronco. You know this play, come on!”

Liam looks just about to have a heart attack himself. His sweaty face is white as a sheet, his hold on the ball weak at best as he stutters through the play’s steps. “Right, t-tailback. Um. Right, and.” He closes his eyes, inhaling a shaky breath. “And tackle.”

For a moment, Louis had thought they had this. After Friday night, he had been optimistic that the worst part was over and that the team was ready to tackle whatever and whoever came at them, tooth and nail. Sure, they still had some things to work on, like the fact that their starting quarterback was inexperienced and not really reliable, but Liam _had_ gotten himself together long enough to push through to the win. Louis had been optimistic.

Right now, though, he is sure it had all been beginner’s luck.

He feels bad for the guy, truly, he does. It can’t be easy, having to fill in Stan’s shoes. Stan had been fierce, fearless and commanding. He had the team’s respect, but he also had their admiration. Wild and unpredictable, the QB used to come up with insane plays at the last minute possible, but, at the same time, never risking anything he didn’t believe in. And it always paid off. So, Louis knows it can’t be easy living up to that kind of expectation.

That doesn’t mean it’s any less frustrating when Liam tries - and fails, again - to make a pass. One simple pass.

Louis is about to rip his hair out, maybe some limbs too. Preferably Liam’s. It’s Wednesday already and they have another game in two days, they can’t afford to waste their practice time like this. _For God’s sake, even freshmen can throw this pass._

If only Liam could get it right, _once_ , and get the ball in Louis’ hands—

“You gotta make sure your index finger is over the seam,” Louis looks up at the sound of that low, honeyed voice. “See? Your thumb and your index should be making an L.”

Sometime amidst Louis’ minor breakdown, Harry had moved halfway across the field, grabbing a spare ball along the way. Louis can only gape as Harry gently demonstrates how to position one’s body to make a perfect pass. He doesn’t seem all that bored by the fact that basically the whole team - including Coach - stopped what they were doing to watch him.

“Now, you can’t hold the ball too tight, seven. You gotta let it loose a little, yeah? That way you can adjust your grip.” Harry turns his body towards Louis. “Your feet should be pointing towards your target.”

Then his eyes find Louis’.

He can see that Harry’s mouth is still moving, knows that he might be giving Liam another dozen very valuable tips, but he can’t hear anything. He can’t make any sense of the words, because Harry is looking at him.

Louis can’t quite explain what having Harry’s stare focused on him makes him feel. It’s addictive, intoxicating. There are few things as heady as having Harry’s full attention, knowing that you are the one thing that makes his too-bright universe stop for a second.

It doesn’t last, of course. Louis is not that lucky.

“And then you throw.” The words startle him. He looks up just in time to see Harry throw the perfect pass, the ball coming straight at him.

He catches it the best he can, feeling kind of dizzy with Harry’s green, green, _green_ eyes still on the forefront of his mind.

When he looks up, Harry has already turned his body to face Liam, coughing into his fist. “Your turn.”

Liam improves after that. Not greatly. Not enough to make Coach stop squirming on the sidelines, but enough to get the ball in Louis’ hands and that’s all they need to end the day on a relatively good note. He can feel the comforting sense of hope slowly igniting in his chest, can see the lightness in his teammates steps as they cheerfully push each other around on their way to the showers.

He sits on one of the locker room benches, lazily loosening up the shoelaces of his cleats. His stomach is making these awful hungry noises and he can’t wait to get home. His mom had taken a shift tonight, so it’s not like he’s expecting some magnificent dinner, but he’s sure he can put together some macaroni and cheese for him and his sisters, and right now that sounds absolutely heavenly.

He feels a hand lightly clapping him on the back at the same time as Mr. Brightside starts playing from somewhere inside of his bag.

“Hey, man. Feel like coming over tonight? We’re ordering some pizza and playing FIFA. Williams is still whining about losing last week,” Josh says playfully, dropping his own bag on the bench next to Louis and putting on a shirt.

“Sorry, bro.” Louis says, reaching inside the duffel to get his phone. “Gotta go home make dinner for the girls, mom’s working tonight. Raincheck?”

“Alright, you’re on,” Josh gives him a light punch on the shoulder, already turning to Niall.

Louis swipes his finger across the phone screen to answer. “Hey, little sis.”

“We’re out of milk.” Lottie sounds entirely too annoyed by that fact.

“Yeah, well, I warned you that would happen when you decided to waste perfectly good milk making that nasty yogurt last night.”

“ _Louis_.” Even through the line, he can pick on the eye roll she’s throwing at the ceiling, like she doesn’t have the time to deal with his teasing manners right now. “Mom’s at the hospital tonight, which means you’ll make mac and cheese, which means _we need milk_.”

He sighs, “Alright, bug. No need to use the know-it-all tone on me. I’m heading out now, so I’ll just drop by the shop on my way home.” A few more players are leaving, nodding at him on their way out. He nods back. “Anything else? Anything on mom’s list?”

There’s some hustle on the other end of the line while he waits for Lottie to check the list pinned to the refrigerator. “Tomatoes, bath soap and bleach. And cheese crackers.”

Louis smiles, knowing that she added the last one herself. “Okay, be home soon. Text me if you need anything else. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” She says, already hanging up.

He throws his phone somewhere near his bag and gets up, fully intending to finally take off his sweaty jersey and pads. He has to hurry if he wants to take a shower before leaving. An exasperated, hungry Lottie is not something he wants to face tonight.

Just as he’s grabbing for the towel he keeps for after practice showers, the locker room door swings open.

“Don’t bother to get in the showers, Tomlinson. I need you and Styles in my office. Now.” Coach seems disheveled, breathless, like he ran all the way to the lockers in hopes of catching the players before they left for the night.

The things is, Coach rarely holds meetings after practice. Before practice? Sure, a bunch of them. But after practice talks are hardly a necessity, seeing as Coach is not one to leave his orders for later. If he’s demanding to talk to Louis and Harry after hours, it can’t be good.

Louis feels his heartbeat speeding up. Why he and Harry, of all people? He’d made sure that Coach had no reason to single them out anymore. Even if he had, by any chance, finally caught on on what had happened between Louis and Harry all those months ago, it wouldn’t make sense for him to want to discuss it now, after everything had already transpired.

Silently praying that he doesn’t look as much of a deer in headlights as he feels, he stutters a “Yes, Coach.” His stomach lets out a pathetic sad growl, like it can feel the mac and cheese slipping further away.

Coach leaves at that, and Louis has no option but to diligently discard the rest of his uniform, putting on clean clothes over sweaty limbs.

He doesn’t know exactly where Harry is, but if he had to guess, he’d say he’s in one of the few shower stalls still producing steam. There are not many people left in the room, most lockers already closed for the night, but Harry’s is wide open, exposing his deodorant and the many rolls of tape he uses to wrap around his fingers before games.

Besides, Louis hadn’t seen him leave. Unfortunately, he’s still acutely aware of Harry’s comings and goings.

It takes him a few moments, but, eventually, he inhales a deep breath and fights through the anxiety making his stomach turn. _It’s nothing._ Coach probably wants to discuss the new season, wants to talk about their next opponent or something about the sponsors.

Louis just wants to get this over with, for the sake of his sanity.

“You heard that, Styles?” It feels quite stupid, nevermind anticlimactic, that those are the first words he says to Harry after all this time.

He hears a monotone “Yeah, I heard,” at the same time as he registers the sound of a shower being turned off.

He cannot be here when Harry comes out of the shower. He absolutely cannot. The prospect of facing a half-naked, flushed Harry, with a towel barely hanging on his hips is way more than he can handle.

“Okay. So, I’ll just. Uh—” he pulls the strap of his bag over his shoulder, awkwardly stepping from side to side. “I’m just gonna wait outside.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply.

In the hallway, he texts Lottie.

**_sorry, bug. coach wants to talk. it will probably take a while._ **

Lottie had just sent him a series of emojis when Harry walks out the dark blue metal door, closing it behind himself.

Louis likes to tell himself he’s been doing a good job ignoring Harry’s… _everything_ lately, but he only has so much strength.

Harry’s threadbare white t-shirt sticks to his damp skin and makes the outline of his chest and arms even more obscene than usual. His cheeks are pink from the hot water, his wet hair in a loose bun. Louis guesses that’s a new thing. He never used to do that. Back then, he’d only try to tame his hair once every once in a while, wearing a headband. On most days, he’d simply let it down, all free messy curls framing his face.

Louis’ chest aches with longing.

He coughs into his fist, “D’you have any idea what this is about?”

Harry shrugs, already looking down and pulling a water bottle from his bag, taking a large gulp.

Louis can’t think of anything they had done wrong, anything that would piss off Coach enough to require an impromptu talk after hours on a Wednesday night.

Thinking objectively, he knows that they’re not exactly at the top of their game, he and Harry, and that might be reason enough for a sermon. He knows they’re nowhere near to the wordless understanding and sparkling chemistry they used to have in the field. Knows that, these days, they’d never be able to go through a whole play in their heads simply by sharing a look -- mainly because Harry’s eyes can’t seem to find their way up to Louis’ face most of the time.

If he’s being honest, Louis thinks that’s fine. They still understand each other enough to get the job done. Harry still blocks for Louis and Louis still gets the ball to the end zone. That’s all that matters, at the end of the day. As long as they earn themselves a new Championship Ring by the end of December, Louis thinks the means are justified.

When they enter Coach’s office, he’s sitting behind the desk, frowning angrily at whoever is on the other side of the phone. He makes some vague gestures towards the chairs positioned in front of him and they take that as a sign that they should sit. It’s the same hard plastic chairs from the other night and Louis laments having to spend another hour or so sitting on them, getting his ass chewed out god knows _why._

Coach sounds angrier and angrier by the minute. “This is my reputation and my career on the line. I’m not gonna move my ass halfway upstate to recruit a kid after one damn game, Rodell!” Whatever this Rodell person says in response must be truly aggravating, because the next thing he knows, Coach is smashing the phone against its holder, but not before spitting out “I think it’s time the people in this town let me do my goddamn job!”

Well, then.

“Sorry about that, boys,” he says, taking off his Falcons cap for a second to fix his hair and putting it back on. Louis holds his breath when the man leans forward, crossing his hands on the table and looking at them with stressed out, tired eyes.

You see, Coach is not _scary_ , per say. He can be a little frightening, with his take-no-shit attitude and short temper, and he certainly has no qualms about raising his voice and swearing like a sailor, but for the most part, Louis knows he cares about the team like they are his own family, and he always —  _always —_  knows the right thing to say, be it when they deserve an earful or when they need some heartfelt advice.

Right now, though, Louis is nervous. Actually, _terrified_ would be a better word for it.

Last year, he had caught the attention of scouts. He had been introduced to the promise a brighter future, all of it laid out in detail across Coach’s table, right in front of his eyes. But for that to happen, for him to finally have a chance to establish himself as a professional football player, he still has to get through his last season. He cannot afford to mess it up, not now. Not after everything he’s done to ensure that the promise stays on the table.

For the life of him, he can’t figure out what happened. They’re only one game into the season, but he’s made sure to follow every instruction, to play right by his teammates, to correct every misstep. He can’t believe he managed to somehow fuck things up so early on, can’t believe—

“So, you two are going to be training Payne from now on.”

_What?_

He automatically turns to Harry, to see if he misheard something, but Harry has the same bewildered look on his face. “I don’t understand, Coach.”

“What’s there to understand? Y’all saw the complete disaster that was the kid this afternoon. He needs guidance, needs to work on his confidence. I can’t have a quarterback shitting his pants every time someone so much as breathes in his direction.” Louis doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry when he recognizes amusement flickering in Coach’s eyes. “And I can’t think of anyone better equipped to help him than you two gentlemen.”

Louis can think of someone. In fact, he can think of _dozens_ of someones who are not graduating this year and could help Liam with whatever his issues are. People who are not worried with college scouts or their GPAs. Besides, it’s completely _absurd_ for him to ask that of Louis, after what happened last year.

“Look, sir, I’m flattered, but don’t you think we sh--”

“You can also use this opportunity to work on whatever the hell is going on between you two.”

That shuts Louis up.

If he weren’t so baffled, he’d be angry at the irony of it all.

Coach keeps staring at the two of them to see if they have anything else to add, daring them to say anything else. When neither Louis or Harry protest, he smiles. “I’m glad we all agree. You can start on Monday. Before school, after practice, at night, I don’t care. Just get that kid to up to speed. We clear?”

“Yes, Coach,” they say in unison.

“Good, that’s all I gotta say. Y’all can go now.”

Louis tries to ignore the prickling feeling at the back of neck when he sees Harry throwing his duffel bag — with a little too much force — in the seat of his truck, once they get to the parking lot.

He waits five minutes after Harry has driven off to turn on the engine of his own car.

He also bangs his head against the steering wheel a few times.

“Shit. Shit, shit, _shit._ ”

⬬

Stan can’t stop laughing.

“It’s not funny.”

“It really is.”

“It’s not funny, Stanley. I'm ninety percent sure he’s going to show up here in the middle of the night and kill me in my sleep, in the most painful way he can think of. You didn’t see the way he looked at me.”

That only makes Stan laugh harder. Louis can practically hear him wheezing all the way from Houston.

“ _Stan_.”

“I’m sorry,” he catches his breath. “I’m sorry, man. Do you think Coach has any idea how royally he’s screwing with you two? _Again_?”

He starts laughing again, uttering something that sounds a lot like “ _the_ _fucking irony_ ”.

Yes, Louis agrees. The fucking irony.

He buries his face into one of his pillow, the next words coming out muffled. “What the fuck am I gonna do? Coach is fucking killing me with this.”

“I don’t even know what to tell you, man,” Stan says, apparently sobering up. “Maybe you should… Apologize? I don’t know, Lou.”

Louis sighs at that. “And what exactly would I be apologizing for? I did the right thing for us both, Stan.”

Stan takes a moment to answer, probably deliberating whether he should say the next words or not. “Well, you didn’t actually consult Harry on it, did you?”

Louis feels like he’s just swallowed a handful of sand.

“Look, bro, I’m not saying you were wrong. Hell, if I were in your place I probably would have done the same thing.” Stan takes a deep breath. “I’m just saying... maybe a little closure would do some good?”

Louis doesn’t have an answer for that.

Stan uses his silence as an opportunity to end his speech, in true captain fashion. “Regardless of what happened, you guys gotta work things out somehow. The Falcons can’t take the fall. Wasn’t that the damn issue in the first place?”

Louis had never told Stan about them. Even though what he and Harry had wasn’t exactly some heavily guarded secret, they had both agreed that life would be much easier without all the teasing, the lectures and the concern that would certainly be aimed at them for it. That’s why they had done their best to keep it under covers — always waiting for everyone to leave the showers, toning down the dirty whispers to avoid awkward boners during practice, avoiding each other’s eyes when they were out drinking with the team — but Stan had figured it out anyway.

When it happened, Louis had expected a lecture. A long captain speech about the importance of team unity and how they were jeopardizing everyone’s chances at winning State. He really should’ve known better, because what he got instead were endless amounts of playful knowing looks and one or twenty inappropriate inside jokes in the locker room.

“It’s not that simple, you know that. I doubt apologizing would make him hate me any less," Louis says, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Besides, it's not like he stays in the same room as me for long enough that I'd ever get the chance."

“Lou, don’t make excuses.” Louis’ protests die in his throat when Stan goes on. “If you wanted to, you would find a way of talking to him. You’re just scared of what he might say in response.”

“Apologizing wouldn’t make a difference because nothing’s chan—”

“That’s the thing, it _would_ make a difference. To this day, the kid doesn’t know what happened. Who knows the conclusions he came up with?”

Louis scoffs.

“I won’t pretend I understand.” Stan says defensively. “Y’all have always been weird about each other.”

Yeah, _weird_ is one word for it.

“You’d think you’d stop bossing me around after leaving us for the big city, but apparently not.” Louis jokes. He’s more than ready to finish this conversation. “I’m going to try, alright? Gonna lock myself in the lockers with him and throw the key away. Stay in there until morning if that’s how long it takes to get him to listen to me.”

Stan hums on the other side of the line. “Now that you mentioned it, that doesn’t sound like an original idea at all. _In fact_ , I remember you two pulling something really similar after the ga--” He sounds way too smug for Louis to let him go on.

“Shut up, dickhead,” he laughs and decides to use this opportunity to change the subject. “Tell me about Houston. Is your wide receiver the slowest man in the entire state or what?”

⬬

Louis is running.

He can’t feel his legs anymore, but at the same time, his legs are the only parts of his body he’s aware of.

There’s sweat dripping into his eyes and he can hardly breathe. It’s so hot. Why is it so fucking hot? It must be around 86 degrees and it’s _September_.

A huge Eagles player comes at his side, but he dodges him. Barely.

_Just a bit more. Just a little bit more, come on._

His feet make a squelching sound hitting the grass. He can’t hear the people in the stands, can’t hear Coach’s screams or his teammates’ calls. All he can hear is the continuous thud-thud-thud in his chest — in his _throat —_  and the squelching sound of his cleats hitting the grass.

He sees Harry fast approaching him from his right, so he knows there must be another linebacker advancing on him from the opposite side. The bright yellow fifty-seven in Harry’s jersey is the last thing he sees before he hears the sound of bodies heavily hitting the grass, indicating that the linebacker is no longer a threat.

_A few more steps._

Thud-thud-thud.

The ball is almost slipping from his fingers. He can see the line indicating the end zone. Another Eagles player appears out of thin air, his arms wrapping around Louis’ waist, trying to stop him from getting the ball to the other side. Louis throws his body forward with all the strength he can muster, his hold on the football so tight he’s afraid one of his knuckles might pop. Before his body reaches the ground, however,

“Touchdown, Falcons!”

He doesn’t believe anything will ever bring him as much joy as those two words do.

Grinning widely, he rolls on his back. When he looks up, he’s met with the red face of the bulky player who, not a minute ago, had a tight grip around his waist.

“Hey, man. Good game,” the guy says, already on his feet and offering Louis his hand.

Louis chuckles breathlessly. Somewhere far away, he can hear a heavy Texas accent howling, “...winning the second game of the season and the Falcons’ sideline is on fire, folks!”

He sits up, fingers still clenched forcefully around worn out leather — sometimes it’s hard to get his body off the Run and Fight mode. Once he manages to make his hands finally let go of the ball, he accepts the boy’s offer, pulling himself up.

“Thanks. It really was good game, wasn’t it?” Louis says without letting go of his hand. “Don’t think your teammates agree, though.” He knows he’s being a shit, but Cute Eagles Player is smiling warmly at him so it’s unlikely he thinks Louis is being obnoxious.

He also stares at his own hand when Louis drops it to take off his helmet. “Probably not, no.”

But Louis is not paying attention anymore. He sees two blonde heads running in his direction, cutting through the crowd like a blade. Maybe it runs in the family. Pun not intended.

He’s gotta talk to his mom about signing up the twins for the little league.

“Lou, you won!” Daisy screams in his ear when he picks her up, throwing her arms around his neck and almost cutting off his oxygen supply.

“We did, yes!” he says a little strangled, but giving her his best smile nonetheless. He adjusts his hold on her thighs and starts walking towards the other blonde head he recognizes as Lottie, near the east stands.

“So, did you guys enjoy the game?” he looks back down at Phoebe, who’s very busy getting her whole face sticky with what’s left of her Snickers bar.

She makes a noncommittal gesture, still entertained by the chocolate mess in her hands. A second later she seems to think better of it, slowing her steps and holding out four syrupy fingers in his direction.

Louis grins. “That’s right, Phee. I scored four touchdowns,” he says, supporting Daisy with only one arm to gently ruffle Phoebe’s hair with his other hand.

They have just reached Lottie when he realizes he’s missing something, his helmet. He must have dropped it sometime between talking to Cute Eagles Player and getting an armful of overexcited five-year-old girl.

He kisses Lottie’s forehead. “Hey, bug.”

“Let’s go, Falcons, let’s go!” He doesn’t know how he missed it before, but now he sees she has bought one of the big dark blue foam fingers they usually sell during the games and it’s currently waving it around like a lunatic.

“You’re embarrassing yourself, you know,” he jokes. “I’m pretty sure I saw Aaron in the stands, somewhere.”

He shouldn’t take so much pleasure from the fact that she immediately halts her movements, but, well. “No, you did not. You’re just fucking with me.”

“Hey, now! There are little ones around, Charlotte!” he fakes a scandalized face, inefficiently trying to close one of Phoebe’s ears.

Lottie rolls her eyes. “God, if only mom could see you now. She’d be so proud. I think she might actually tear up if I tell her.”

“Yeah, yeah. Enough with your attitude,” Louis says. Daisy seems sleepy in his arms now, resting her cheek against his shoulder. He feels bad about smoothly untangling her arms around his neck, but he really needs to pick up his helmet.

He turns to Lottie again. “Hey, can you pick her up for a sec? I gotta go back for something.”

Once he passes Daisy to Lottie’s arms, he jogs back to the end zone. He finds the helmet pretty easily and is just about to go back to the girls when he catches sight of something else.

Harry’s walking barefoot on the grass, holding his cleats and socks in one hand and his helmet in the other. One of the guys from the team comes up behind him and claps him in the back, undoubtedly congratulating him on the game well played. Harry smiles and Louis can hear him laughingly shouting, “You keep those eagles caged in, baby!” while the player walks away.

Louis knows what he’s doing, has seen this same ritual happen a lot of times since Harry first started a game for the Falcons, last year.

The first time he noticed it happening — Harry staying behind long after everyone else’s gone home — he had decided to stay too.

What can he say? He’s always been this shade of too engrossed by Harry Styles’ whole existence.

After saying goodbye to his mom and sisters in the parking lot that night, Louis had come back only to find the fullback sitting right in the middle of the empty field — barefoot, of course. Always barefoot.

Even though he had mud on his face and his hair was one big matted mess, Harry had looked utterly peaceful.

A few weeks later, when they had become acquainted with each other’s bodies and thoughts, and Louis had watched Harry perform the act a few more times, he finally asked what it was all about. Among bed sheets and in true Harry fashion, the boy had answered that taking off his cleats and walking around on an empty field after games — which were always stressful and combative — made him feel like he was letting it all go; that it felt like he was leaving the tension, the stiffness and the anxiety right there in the ground.

With time, Louis learned that he didn’t only do that after games. Harry’s life at home was quite messy, with his parents being gone and Gemma nowhere near worthy of any sister of the year awards. On particularly bad nights, he’d buy himself a pack of beer and drive to the school’s stadium, in search of some peace of mind.

Louis knows what he’s doing. Louis knows and it stings, because, before, he would have stayed behind too. He would have taken off his cleats, sat beside Harry and let the battered grass of the football field and the cool night air wash away the feelings sitting heavy in his gut.

But they don’t do that together anymore, so he won’t.

Louis presses his helmet tight against his stomach and turns his back on Harry, ignoring the fact that a quiet deserted stadium would be the perfect place to have the talk he promised Stan he would try to make happen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: shameless use of completely inaccurate football technique to fulfill the author's tropes.
> 
> again, if you notice any mistakes, please let me know.  
> enjoy!

“Okay, Payno. It’s pretty simple. Your first task is to catch—”

“Shouldn’t we, like, wait? Isn’t Styles supposed to be here too?”

It’s early, as in  _ass crack of dawn_  early, and Louis is not feeling particularly lenient. He’s cold - his thin sweatshirt is doing barely anything to protect him against the chilly morning air — and he’s hungry (it’s amazing all the ways waking up an hour and a half earlier fucks up with your breakfast routine).

“ _Styles_ was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago,” Louis bites. “As I was saying, your first task—” he stops. Liam is not looking at him, or paying attention to the ball in Louis’ hand.  _Rude._

He follows Liam’s gaze and. Of course.

“Sorry ‘m late,” Harry mumbles, taking the last few steps until he’s by Louis’ side. Or as close to Louis’ side as he’ll get these days.

He’s wearing his customary worn-out jacket, its shearling collar all messed up on the left side, like he’s barely awake enough to put on clothes, let alone fix them. Louis is pretty sure that’s exactly the case, judging by the puffiness around his eyes and the disarray that is his hair.

He itches to fix the stupid collar.

_Here lie monsters._

“So kind of you to finally join us,” Louis clears his throat, looking away.

Harry doesn’t acknowledge him, simply bending to pick one of the footballs inside the sack at his feet. He seems to realize Louis and Liam haven’t done much of anything yet, because his next move is to toss Liam the ball. “Alright, seven, let’s go.” He takes a few steps backwards and raises his voice, still sounding a little rough around the edges. “We won’t leave this field before you give me at least ten perfect passes!”

The thing about running practice together is that, well, they actually have to talk to each other at some point.

They hadn’t come up with a plan for this. Louis had sent Harry a text, asking if seven o’clock was a good time for them to start, but it had gone unanswered. Clearly, working on a method was not one of Harry’s priorities. However, soon enough it became obvious that, for this to go anywhere, talking was of essence. Not that surprising, if you think about it.

Louis guesses that’s exactly what Coach had in mind when he pulled this little stunt. Their interactions are uncomfortable and strained, but they’re happening.

They’ve been at it for close to forty minutes, slowly but surely making progress. So far, Liam has dealt well with most of what they threw at him. As Louis suspected, Liam’s problem is one big case of insecurity wrapped up in anxiety and high expectations.

“C’mon, Liam! Get that damn ball in my hands!” Harry calls out.

Right now, they’re trying to get him to make a sprint out pass, but no matter how many times they try to tell him, he always positions his body wrong when it’s time to throw.

“No! No, no, no! What are you doing, QB?!” Louis is at his side, so he decides to take matters into his own hands. Literally. “This leg,” he crouches down to grab a hold of Liam’s left knee and pull it forward, “should be here. And this arm,” he taps the boy’s left shoulder, “needs to help your balance when you throw the ball.”

The quarterback blinks at him, big startled eyes.

Coming to terms with the fact that he’ll probably rip out his own eyes before lunch time, he positions his body behind Liam’s, putting one hand on his upper back and the other on his waist. Liam takes a sharp breath. “What? You’re getting shy on me now? Focus, Payno! We can analyze how much you love having my hands on you later.”

“I don’t— It’s not that!”

“Listen, do you feel this muscle?” he presses right in the middle of the boy’s back. “This is the most important one, the one you need to focus your strength on when you want to hit the larger distances. When you throw,” Louis nods for him to make the pass, but keeps a tight grip on his waist. “You see? The way your body moves leads you slightly to the left, and that’s why the ball never hits the target. Now, pick up another ball and spread your legs.”

Liam chokes on air.

“For the love of god, it’s almost time for class. Just do it already, would ya?” Liam takes a small step forward and grabs one of the balls scattered all around them, standing straight afterwards, barely spreading his feet apart.

Louis also steps forwards, restoring his position behind Liam. “Alright, so when you distribute your weight over…”

He’s about to continue when he catches sight of Harry over Liam’s shoulder. There’s an oddly intense, piercing look in his eyes, his brows furrowed like he’s quite unhappy with something.  _What the hell is his problem now?_

“You distribute your weight over the feet in the direction you’re about to throw.” He goes on, eyes still locked with Harry’s. “Try not to move your whole body to the left, like you’re used to.”

When he rearranges the hand on Liam’s waist to push him forward slightly, to make his point, Harry’s eyes immediately snap to that one point of contact.

Oh?

_Oh._

Louis deliberately moves his hand a little lower on Liam’s waist, taking great pleasure in the way Harry’s eyes follow the motion.

 _Well_.

He lowers his other hand to Liam’s waist and fits his leg between the quarterback’s, lightly kicking his feet further apart. “I told you to spread your legs, Payno.”

Harry’s eyes narrow at that, his jaw visibly clenching.

He’s sure Liam is two seconds away from asking what the hell is going on, because Louis is standing almost uncomfortably close to him and Harry is watching them so intently that Louis thinks he hasn’t blinked in over a minute.

It’s making Louis’ blood pump faster. It’s exhilarating, having the other boy’s unwavering attention, knowing that just the sight of Louis’ hands on somebody else is still enough to turn Harry’s expression dark like that.

He knows he’s pushing his luck, but Louis was never one to back down from a challenge, so he leans forward to speak in Liam’s ear, low enough so Harry won’t be able to listen a word. “This way you’ll have much more control over your own body and where the ball is going.”

He’s just speaking nonsense, not even sure he’s still making sense, but by the offended look in Harry’s face you’d think he’s proposing something completely obscene to Liam, right then and there. Louis has to bite the inside of his cheek to contain his smirk.

“Um. Louis?” Liam clears his throat, suddenly, and the sound manages to snap Louis out of the staring contest he and Harry had going on. The quarterback takes a couple steps forward, extricating himself from Louis’ hands. “Do you. Do you mind just—” he stops whatever he was about to say, turning to look at both Harry and Louis, bewilderment clear in his face while his eyes go from one to another like a pinball.

“Maybe we should. Um,” he swallows, his glance finally stopping on Harry, who’s still looking at Louis. “Let’s pick up tomorrow, yeah? I have to grab a cup of coffee before class, anyway. I’ll just see you guys tomorrow.”

He sounds so flustered that Louis almost feels bad.

“You haven’t mustered that play yet,” he has a hard time keeping a straight face while he says it.

Liam opens his mouth, probably to protest, but Louis takes pity on him. “Alright, we’ll pick up tomorrow. I’ll see you in Bio.”

Liam’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thanks, man.” He hurriedly grabs his bag, that’s been sitting on the grass against the goal post. “See you later.”

Liam’s already turned and started walking towards the exit when he seems to think better of it, because he throws a wary, “Bye, Harry,” over his shoulder.

He doesn’t stay around long enough to hear an answer.

Louis laughs under his breath, bending to catch the balls dispersed around the grass. “As if the kid isn’t scared enough already, Harry.” He doesn’t say it loud, but he knows he’s been heard. Harry is still watching him like a hawk.

If Louis is being honest, he doesn’t really understand what’s going on here.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of Harry finally moving, also bending to pick up a few stray balls. “I didn’t do anything,” he mutters grumpily.

Louis can’t be sure, but there’s a big chance Harry is pouting.

“Sure you didn’t. He ran out of here like his pants were on fire because he _really_ wanted that cup of coffee.”

When he stands up, Harry is already in front of him, holding the half full sack of footballs open. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

He tries really hard not to scoff. Holding the other boy’s gaze, Louis slowly pushes ball after ball through the opening of the sack. This is the first time they’re alone - and kind of talking to each other - in months. No one can blame him for wanting to drag this out.

Apparently, Harry doesn’t share the sentiment. “Can you take these to the locker room? I have somewhere I need to be.” He hands out the sack, his eyes no longer meeting Louis’.

_Nothing’s more pleasurable than taking an ice bath this early in the morning._

“Sure,” Louis hates how he can instantly feel the difference in his own demeanor.

Harry only nods, reaching for the jacket he had dropped on the grass sometime between passes and blocks.

By the time Louis works his way around the lump in his throat, Harry is already too many steps away for Louis to try to grasp for the short-lived warmth he’d felt in his veins.

Later, during English class, he finally answers the question Stan had texted him two days ago.

**_did he come around, then?_ **

**_i don’t think he’s ever been further away_ **

⬬

Louis is a firm believer that chemistry is useless. He’s also absolutely sure that by balancing chemical equations he’d be doing the devil’s work.

“You have to have the same amount of sodiums on both sides…”

Why would he ever need to count sodiums — or oxygens, or hydrogens, for that matter — outside of high school is a mystery for him.

He thanks whatever god is out there for putting Niall in this class with him. Even though his friend looks a little bit like a crazy chemist, with some sort of potentially dangerous powder smudged on his cheek and too excited eyes behind his protection glasses, Niall knows what he’s doing.

“Nialler, have I told you how glad I am that you’re my lab partner this year?”

“Yes, you have, Tommo. You can repay me with pints, and by filling this beaker with distilled water,” he says distractedly, handing Louis the beaker while still focused on the notes on his book.

Louis does as he’s told, wandering around the lab searching for the wash bottles he knows are filled with water. When he comes back, Niall is already mixing some kind of weird grain in another beaker.

“Okay, now that this is done, we need a funnel,” Niall says. Seeing as that one is already on the table, Louis only hands it to him as Niall adds water to the mix.

While Niall positions the funnel on top of the burette and slowly pours the liquid, Louis reads his textbook, trying to understand how that weird white powder is supposed to neutralize acid. That’s why he only catches the end of Niall’s question.

“...to the FIFA finals?”

“Huh?”

“Are you coming? To watch the finals?” Niall asks. “They started a new championship last week. The last match might be between Lee and Scott, I’m not sure. What matters is that the runner-up is supposed to pay pizza for everyone.”

Textbook forgotten, Louis is outraged. “I can’t believe you guys started another championship without me! Haven’t you got any respect for your captain?!”

“Your mom had a shift, Grouchy. Besides, you gotta give the others a chance every once in a while,” Niall says.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Are you guys leaving right after practice? I think mom will stay with the girls tonight.”

“Yeah, maybe we’ll just grab a pack or two on the way. It will be at Styles’, after all. It’s not like we need to worry about lack of alcohol there.”

... _Shit_.

“What did you say?”

“We’ll grab a pack on the way…?” Niall says slowly.

“No, man. Not that. It will be at Styles’?”

“Yep. Gemma is out of town again. Harry thinks her boyfriend’s band went somewhere up north this time. She might be gone the whole month.”

For some reason, it’s not that surprising anymore that Louis hadn’t been invited before.

All of a sudden, Louis is decidedly more concerned about chemistry and atoms and molecules. “Thanks, Nialler, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to,” he mumbles, absentmindedly scribbling over his notes. He almost wants to stop, because he’s gonna need those later, but then he’d have nowhere to look at other than Niall’s face.

“What do you mean? You just said your mom will be home tonight.”

“Well, I’ve got stuff to do. Exams to study for. Besides, I think I might stay after practice today for some running drills.”

When Niall doesn’t immediately say anything, Louis thinks he’s in the clear. He's just started separating a new beaker for the next step of the assignment when he's caught off guard again.

“What happened between you two?”

Blood stops short in Louis’ veins.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says as evenly as he can, doing his best to look unaffected.

Niall scoffs, “Yeah, right.”

Even though he’s lying through his teeth, Louis is still somewhat offended. “Why is it so hard to believe that I want to work on my running drills?” He leans closer to the other boy, making sure to speak low enough to not draw anymore attention to their discussion. “You  _do_ know that our next game is against the Bears, right? I’ll have to run past that giant Williams guy if I want to get anywhere near the end zone.”

“It’s not  _that_ that I find hard to believe, Tommo.”

A few minutes pass. When Louis thinks they're finally done with the discussion, Niall continues yet again. “I mean, you guys are really not fooling anyone. No one says anything because we know it’s not our business, but the whole team has noticed it.”

Louis turns to him abruptly, eyes wide in shock. _What the fuck does that mean?_

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t look so surprised,” Niall says gently. “I’m sorry, man, but you couldn’t be more obvious if you slapped us in the face with it. One week you’re going home together every night. The next you barely say a word to each other.”

Louis can hear his heart beating loudly in his ears. Of course they had been obvious. Of course everyone has noticed. Admittedly, Louis had been too worried about Harry’s feelings to care about much else at the time. Torn between his own heartache and Harry’s resentment, he hadn’t given much thought about what it might look like to their teammates when they suddenly stopped talking.

He’s saved from having to answer when their teacher shows up behind them. “That’s enough talking, boys. That acid won’t become water on its own.”

“Yes, sir,” they answer in unison.

The rest of class is spent in a heavy sense of apprehension, like some kind of weird calm before the storm. Louis can feel it building up inside of his chest, his spine pulled tight with how tense he is. He can’t help thinking back on every strained interaction, every awkward silence in the locker room. Every time he and Harry had to discuss a play or formation and all the boys were there to watch them uncomfortably dodge each other’s eyes.

He knows that if things were different, if he and Harry were still together, he wouldn’t care as much about the team knowing. It’d be inconvenient, sure. They’d have to deal with a never-ending supply of inappropriate jokes and two or three pairs of concerned eyebrows. Now, however, it’s being read in a completely different light, because Harry and Louis  _failed_. They failed to make it work. They put their friendship — and, consequently, their dynamic within the team — at risk and it didn’t pay off. They’re two of the main players on the team and they can barely sit together to figure out how to train their new quarterback. If anything, their fallout completely justifies the hypothetical lectures they would have been submitted to.

Do their teammates think Louis is less of a captain because of it? Do they even trust him anymore, knowing he lets his personal problems interfere with how he runs the team?

When the bell rings, he can’t pack his things fast enough. He needs to breathe some fresh air, needs to splash his face with cold water and snap out of it.

He’s almost out the door when he hears Niall calling out his name. He doesn’t want to hear it, definitely doesn’t want to keep having that same conversation -  _would rather burn himself alive, thanks_ \- but Niall is practically throwing himself over tables and students to reach Louis. He can’t exactly pretend he hasn’t heard him.

“Hey! Hey, Louis! Wait up!” Once they’re face to face, Niall puts a hand on his shoulder. “I need to talk to you.”

At first he thinks Niall is only catching his breath, but then he notices how Niall’s eyes keep darting between the people leaving the room. He gingerly leads Louis to the hallway and only when it seems like no one’s paying attention to them anymore does he start talking. “As I said before, I’m well aware this is none of our business. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad back there.”

Louis swallows thickly, not really sure how he’s supposed to answer to that.

“I only want what’s best for you, Lou. And for Harry. I’m sorry for the stuff I said about the team, that was fucking stupid. I say stupid shit without thinking sometimes.” He flashes a half smile, the red on his cheeks making obvious his embarrassment. “I’m sure at least half of them don’t give a fuck that you guys are not... friends anymore.”

“That’s not it, Niall.”

Niall only shakes his head dismissively. “That being said,” he emphasizes, “seeing as I’m good friends with you both, I feel like I need to say something.”

Louis bites his bottom lip, for the first time looking away from Niall’s eyes.

“What you had was good. I don’t really understand  _what_ it was, but you guys were…” he trails off when he sees a freshman coming up behind Louis. Once the kid is gone he picks up. “My point is you guys were good for each other, and it sucks to see that things got so bad that you won’t even go to his place for FIFA these days.”

A few more people start rushing around them, on their way the their next classes. Probably realizing they might be late, Niall wraps it up. “I’m not gonna lie, I wish you guys would work this out, but if it’s not possible, I’m here for you, yeah?”

“Thanks, Ni. I really appreciate it,” Louis says, chest filled with gratefulness. He wants to say more, wants to hold on to Niall’s kind offer with both hands, but ends up deciding against it. Maybe some other time would be better fitting for this conversation. He’s not exactly comfortable having a heart-to-heart in the middle of the school hallway. “We should get going. Don’t wanna piss off Mrs. Henley this early in the semester.”

Niall laughs. If he's put off by the abrupt change of subject, he doesn’t say anything about it.

⬬

Similar to Harry, Louis has his own decompressing mechanism. Admittedly, it’s nothing as poetic as metaphorically burying your frustration in the grass, but it also involves the Falcons’ football field.   

He knows his mom will frown at the sight of him leaving the house at a quarter past ten on a school night, but he needs to get rid of the restlessness in his bones. Be that as it may, she’ll probably understand once she sees the football under his arm.

He smiles to himself once he arrives at the school and turns on the powerful lights of the field.

Louis loves football. Loves it the way one loves a childhood friend. He doesn’t know exactly when it started, but he remembers asking for cleats as a Christmas present at the age of four. When other kids would forget all about the game the minute playtime was over, Louis would clutch to his ball like a crutch. For as long as he can remember, football has always been his _thing_.

The sport is the first thing on his mind when he wakes up. When he thinks about what he wants to do for the rest of his life, he can’t imagine anything other than bright lights and touchdowns.

He knows he has given up a lot for it. He’s never dedicated himself as much as he should to his studies, too busy practicing passes to do much more than his homework, and his circle of friends consists solely of football players. Hell, he has given up Harry for it.

It hasn’t always been easy, remaining focused, but the past couple of months have been especially rough. Since December, he’s caught himself many times wondering what other parts of himself would he have to let go in order to live this dream.

He’s not dense. He knows that most of these feelings have surfaced because of Harry, but he can’t think of any alternatives that don’t end up in heartbreak in one way or another. He never expected to feel a longing so strong that it rivals his devotion to football, but he constantly reminds himself that it’s for the best, for the both of them.

With that in mind, Louis stretches before starting his drills.

⬬

Their next training sessions with Liam go on pretty much the same way the first one had.

Despite the slow start, the quarterback has been improving, growing more confident and learning new plays faster than Louis had hoped for. At some point, Coach even pulls Louis aside to congratulate him on a job well done.

If, on one hand, things with Liam were improving, on the other hand, things with Harry were…  _charged_ , at best. Being forced to work together is both a blessing and a curse.

It’s a blessing because every morning Louis gets to have little pieces of Harry he had long parted with. He gets to hear Harry’s brash laugh every time Liam says something clever and blunt. He’s allowed to indulge in his craving for Harry’s voice, avidly listening to the tips the fullback gives Liam and enjoying the rough quality of his tone, due to the early hour. On mornings when Harry is distracted enough, Louis is even granted an idea of what band he’s currently obsessed with, when he starts humming songs while they’re setting up the tackle dummies. After all this time, Louis finally witnesses Harry being caring and cheerful and  _warm_ again.

It’s a curse because he’s reminded everyday of what he’s lost. If Harry is amused by Liam’s antics, the laughter will die in his throat the second he’s reminded Louis is around. His instructions come to a halt whenever Louis tries to input something. The warmth and fondness are gone from his face as soon as Liam leaves to get his customary cup of coffee, only to be replaced with clipped answers.

Louis is not sure small glimpses of the old Harry are worth the heartache that is to see him vanishing before his eyes every time.

He’s been building himself up for the conversation he knows they need to have. It’s inexcusable for two fundamental players, such as a running back and his fullback, to be in non-speaking terms. Louis’ performance depends on Harry’s. The feeble peace pact they have going on has worked until now, but the competition is growing more vicious and, if they want to succeed, everyone needs to be at the top of their game. As captain of the team, it’s his duty to fix their relationship -- at least inside the field.

If only the thought of a conversation alone didn’t leave him feeling nauseous.

⬬

They are playing against the Seahawks.

Coach has just requested timeout and they only have thirty five seconds left in the fourth quarter. The Falcons are four points behind and Louis is losing his mind.

“Fuck! Christ! We are just dodging bullets out there!” His voice sounds high-pitched to his own ears, but he can’t help it. “There’s got to be a way to get past these blocks!”

Niall is by his side, unsuccessfully trying to sip from his water bottle with his helmet still on, eyes worried. “It’s bloody impossible! That fucker Calvin is killing it out there,” he says.

Louis shakes his head, exasperated. His left side hurts from all the tackles he’s taken and it’s making it hard to breathe.

He sees Coach approaching and steels himself for what he knows won’t be a pleasant chat. “Hey! Hey, Tomlinson!” Coach grabs him by the shoulders. “What are you doing?! You can’t just force your way through these guys! They’re too big!”

“I gotta get some room! I can’t get to the endzone if those guys are taking me down every time!”

“That’s why we have goddamn fullbacks! Let them do their jobs, kid!” Coach yells. “Get your head together!”

Harry chooses this exact moment to get up from the plastic chair he was sitting on, retying his laces. “You’ll get through them.” He doesn’t have his helmet on, so Louis can see clearly how this game is taking its toll on him. His sweaty hair is sticking to the sides of his face, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide and focused. “I’ll make sure of it,” he says with certainty, eyes dead set on Louis’.

It feels like a deal.

They’ve been playing horribly the entire night. In his defense, Liam is actually the only one holding up his end of things, getting the ball to Louis’ hand more often than not. The problem is everything else. The Seahawk players are too big, too strong and too fast for Louis to avoid their blocks, and the rest of the team isn’t faring much better in their positions.

He and Harry are specially out of tune tonight. Whenever Louis goes left, Harry goes right. Whenever Harry clears the way, supposedly providing Louis with an opening, Louis anticipates a completely different route and they miss an opportunity. It’s like Louis is speaking french and Harry is speaking german, and they can’t find a way to meet in the middle.

Still, when Harry looks him in the eyes and tells him he’ll take care of it, Louis believes him, because  _this_ is familiar. He recognizes the hunger in Harry’s eyes as the same one he feels running under his own skin.

“Alright, let’s go!" Coach is screaming somewhere around them, but Louis is still watching Harry as he puts on his helmet. "Payne, Blitz 27 razor on one! Let’s do this!” Louis nods, and when Harry nods back, he feels more confident than he has since the first whistle blow.

The game ends with a touchdown by the Falcons, three seconds left on the clock.

⬬

His late night visits to the field become even more recurrent.

It’s no surprise that senior year is a bitch, but coupled with his mom taking on an indecent number of extra shifts and the stress levels among the team reaching new heights, Louis feels like he might snap at the slightest breeze.

Being alone with just his old football and the battered grass keeping him company settles something inside his chest. His sleep schedule is all sorts of fucked up, late nights coupled with early practices, but when he lays his head against his pillow after practicing drills for hours, he’s so tired that he’s asleep before his thoughts have time to catch up with him.

In retrospect, it’s surprising that it took so long to happen. Later, Louis will beat himself up for not considering it a possibility, after all, he is well aware of another person that uses this stadium as a safe space fairly often.

It’s a Monday night when he arrives at school and the lights are already on. That should have been the first sign. The sound of glass bottles colliding against one another should’ve been the second.

Against his best judgment, he enters the field.

He’s met with the sight of one very drunk Harry Styles, sitting between the 30 and 20 yard lines.

Louis can see five or six beer bottles scattered around the grass, along with Harry’s worn out boots. Apparently unaware of his surroundings, Harry seems to be in a staring contest against the goal post, elbows resting on his knees as he glares at it with furrowed brows and pursed lips, hair thrown in every which way.

Louis thinks of leaving. Harry’s hasn’t noticed his arrival yet, so he could go back home and pretend this never happened. That’s clearly the safest option. But Louis won’t do that, not this time. They have to talk and they have to find a way out this mess they’re buried into.

There’s a voice in the back of his head saying that a drunk and visibly unhappy Harry probably won’t be so cooperative, but Louis has been running from this for far too long and he’s tired of it.

He walks the short distance it takes to reach Harry and sits a few feet away from him, the damp grass surely ruining his sweatpants. Harry doesn’t acknowledge his presence, but Louis hears his sharp intake of breath. He gives the boy a moment, in case he decides to leave, but Harry’s only move is to open another beer bottle with practiced hands, taking a large gulp of it.

They sit in silence for what feels like an eternity, their breathing louder than bombs. If Louis wasn’t sure that Harry wouldn’t respond kindly to it, he would ask him for a bottle for himself, if only so the alcohol would ease the tightness in his chest enough for him to speak.

Louis searches his brain for a way of starting this conversation. It stings to think that there has been a time when this person by his side was his best friend, his confidant, and now he has no idea how to even greet him.

From his periphery, he can see Harry’s bare feet resting on the grass. Maybe some familiarity is the key.

“So this is still what you do in your spare time.”

That’s as good as it’s gonna get, Louis supposes.

Harry doesn’t react. He doesn’t even look up from the place where he’s peeling off the bottle’s label. Louis feels the hot prickling of embarrassment in the back of his neck. He's being ignored. He’s putting himself on the line and he’s being ignored.

 _Harry should know better._ Louis will stay here the whole night if that’s how long it takes for him to get a response.

He’s about to try again when Harry says, “You’ve made it clear you don’t give a fuck ‘bout what I do in my spare time.”

Louis’ stomach drops somewhere near his feet. Harry was never one to beat around the bush, not when it mattered.

He swallows and thinks that getting to the point might be his best option. “I wanted to talk to you about us.” He realizes his mistake as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Not  _us._ About the team. We haven’t been playing our best game, I know you know that.” Louis figures Harry won’t have anything to say about that, so he pushes through. “The games will only become nastier from now on and we have to improve if we want to win State again.”

Harry’s response is to gulp down the rest of his beer. If Louis didn’t know him, he would think he wasn’t listening.

“You know how our next game is against the Cardinals, right? You remember how vicious those guys can get. I wanted us to come up with some plays, maybe work on a block from the left—”

Louis stops when he hears a chuckle.

He doesn’t think he’s said anything particularly funny, so he turns to Harry, waiting for an explanation.

“‘S funny, ‘s all.” Harry throws his finished bottle somewhere near the other discarded ones. “This is the first time you’re talking to me in eight months, and it’s  _still_ about football.”

Louis feels his stomach tilt to one hundred and eighty.

“Harry…” he starts, but Harry is already reaching out to pick up his boots, seemingly done with their one-sided conversation. Louis is not above begging, though. “Please.”

That makes Harry stop. Somehow, Louis’ pleading manages to make him  _angrier_. With one foot in a battered boot and one foot still bare, he snarls, “Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t give a shit? ‘Bout State?”

Even more so than his words, Harry’s tone is what shocks Louis the most. It’s a tone reserved for his deadbeat parents, or Gemma. It’s what Harry sounds like when the world has become fucked up enough to disturb the carefully placed layer of calm he lives under.  _When_   _did I start fitting in that box?_

“For christ’s sake, Harry, be reasonable.” He knows it’s probably the wrong thing to say, given their less than cordial situation right now, but it’s ridiculous how Harry can be so nonchalant about this. “This is the most important season of our lives. This year will dictate our careers, our future.”  

Harry is shaking his head, furious — like  _he’s_ the one that can’t believe what’s being said. By the time Louis has finished saying his piece, Harry’s already on his feet. And  _like hell_ they’re going to have this conversation with Harry looking down on him.

Louis gets up as well, ignoring his unsteady knees. He’s not ready to give up. “I know you’re not one for dreams of grandiosity, but, at the very least, this is our chance to ever get somewhere. You of all people should get it!”

If Louis is being honest, he never understood how Harry wasn’t bursting out of his skin with the need to leave this town.

“Not everyone is so keen to leave this place, Louis.” The bitter resentment in his tone makes something ugly twist inside Louis’ chest. “Some of us even care enough to stay.”

It takes a moment for Louis to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, irritation climbing its way up his spine like fire. “Lack of caring was never the problem.” Harry scoffs. “Lack of caring was  _never_ the fucking problem, Harry.”

For a second, all they do is look at each other. It feels surreal that this is what became of them. There was a time when nights alone in this field meant warm laughs and warmer hugs. It meant Louis sitting between Harry’s spread legs, back against his chest while they went over their plays. It meant Harry’s soft lips muttering sweet nothings against the skin of his neck, the smell of grass and Harry’s cologne combining to create Louis’ favorite smell in the world.

Tonight, Harry’s glassy eyes and angry red mouth are both familiar and foreign. Louis would like nothing more than to kiss away the resentful curl of his lips. To cradle his jaw and apologize for making them hurt like this. He’s never felt so powerless.

Something seems to break their static reverie, because, next thing he knows, Harry lets out a heavy sigh and Louis can see the fight leave his body. He puts his hands inside the pockets of his jacket. “Hell if I know what the problem is, Louis,” he shrugs.

It breaks Louis’ heart how defeated he sounds.

“Harry,” Louis tries, but Harry is already heading towards the gate. “Haz, please!”

Harry hesitates at that.

It should feel bold, calling Harry by his nickname, but Louis finds it’s not as terrifying as he would’ve imagined. It must be because they’ve already opened their Pandora’s Box, anyway, and Louis’ need to feel closer to Harry makes him reckless.

Harry turns back around, expression agonized. “I don’t wanna do this tonight.” He sounds raw. “I’m drunk, and upset, and I don’t wanna do this tonight.”

With that, Louis sees himself in the company only of his forgotten football and half a dozen bottles of beer left behind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> procrastination is one of my strong points but finishing this fic is a matter of honor, so here we are. in case anyone is keeping up with this, it's the longest chapter yet and it consists **entirely of flashback scenes**. the amount of mentions of blowjobs might be due to harry's antics while performing 'medicine'. also, this is unbetad, so, as usual, if you notice any mistakes, please let me know.
> 
> warnings for this chapter: abnormally high doses of fluff, incorrect football stadiums info and breaking bad spoilers.  
> enjoy!

**A YEAR AGO**

Louis arrives at Harry’s house with a grocery bag on his left hand and his duffel on his right shoulder.

He knocks on the door twice. When he gets no answer, he tries again, three knocks this time. “Styles! Open up!”

A couple minutes pass and still nothing.

Sighing to himself, Louis heads to the side of the house. He finds Harry’s window easily enough.

“Time to wake up, Hazza!” He calls out, tapping on the glass. “Come open the door!”

At that, he sees the curtain being drawn. Half a sleepy face glares at him.

Louis has to press his lips together to stop himself from smiling too wide. Grumpy Harry is cute. “Open the door, pretty please?” He raises the grocery bag he’s still holding to Harry’s eye level. “I brought breakfast.”

Harry’s glare softens a touch. The sight of Harry’s naked back getting out of bed is the last thing he sees before the curtain moves back to its place.

Louis walks back to the front yard and is met with the door already open, Harry waiting at the doorstep. Louis gives him a winning smile, stepping inside.

He heads straight to the kitchen, dropping his duffel on a bench and putting the grocery bag on the counter. From his periphery, he sees Harry at his side, leaning back against the sink.

Harry’s got only his sweatpants on, those hanging ridiculously low on his hips, the hair of his groin showing along the waistband. He looks barely awake, soft and warm.

Louis wants to touch him, so he does.

“Good morning,” he says, looping his arms around Harry’s neck.

“It’s barely seven,” Harry mumbles, tired eyes losing their battle against daylight.

Louis nods. “I know.”

Harry sighs, wrapping his own arms around Louis’ waist. “Good morning, baby,” the endearment gets lost in the way he leans down to press their lips together.

“I brought eggs,” Louis says against his mouth.

Harry smirks. “Thought you said you brought breakfast.”

“I lied a little,” Louis admits. “I thought we could make breakfast together.”

Harry kisses his cheek, his jaw, working his way down Louis’ neck. He’s definitely more awake now. “Is that your way of making me get to practice on time?” Louis can feel Harry’s smile against his skin.

He plays with the soft curls at Harry’s nape. “Maybe...”

With one last kiss to Louis’ neck, Harry pulls back. “Will you make my life absolutely miserable once you become captain?” He smiles wide, dimples out.

“Probably, but we’ll also enjoy all the perks of having the key to the locker room.” Louis wiggles his eyebrows.

Harry laughs and kisses him on the mouth again, slower this time, his hands trailing down to grab a handful of Louis’ ass. Louis moans, hands drifting to settle on Harry’s chest.

He loses himself in the kiss, the wet swipe of Harry’s tongue making Louis thrust against him with purpose. When one of Harry’s hands slides up under his shirt, Louis hooks his finger into the waistband of Harry’s sweatpants and snaps it against his skin. “Breakfast,” Louis murmurs into the space between.

Harry presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Okay.” One more kiss. “Okay.”

Louis lightly pushes him away, amused. “Grab a bowl, please.”

Harry licks his lips, eyes fixed on Louis’ face.

“Harry,” Louis whines, feeling his cheeks heating up.

“Alright, alright. I’m going.”

Louis turns back to the carton package inside the bag, taking out four eggs before Harry finally sets a plastic bowl on the counter. Louis presses a kiss against his shoulder in thanks.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to put in an omelet,” Harry says, apologetic.

“Not a problem.” Louis cracks the eggs into the bowl. “We can make them scrambled.”

Harry moves to get the cheese and the bread while Louis reaches inside the kitchen cabinet for salt and pepper. He adds them to the mixture and stirs it with a fork.

“I’m not sure if it’ll happen,” Louis says, continuing their previous conversation.

Harry puts a frying pan on the stove. “Of course it’ll happen. Coach knows there’s no better option than you.”

Louis smiles at that. “Who knows? Maybe he’ll pick Niall. Or Josh. Or you.”

That earns him a resounding laugh. “Now, _that_ is unlikely.”

Louis joins in the laughter. They both know that, as much of a good player as Harry is, Coach would never consider someone as undisciplined as him for the captain position. Besides, he’s still relatively new to the team, scheduled to enter the official starting lineup only next season.

They drop the subject, working in comfortable silence until Louis finally sets two plates with scrambled eggs and toast on the counter. Harry only brings it up again after they’ve placed their empty dishes inside the sink.

“I mean it,” he says, tugging on the bottom of Louis’ shirt to pull him closer. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you,” Louis says earnestly. He runs his hands up Harry’s arms and squeezes his biceps. “Go put on some clothes. You’re very distracting.”

Harry looks smug. “Yes, captain.” He makes no effort to stop touching Louis.

“You’re terrible.” Louis gives him one last squeeze before dropping his hands and stepping back. “We’re gonna be late.”

Harry gives Louis’ a mischievous look, but actually leaves to get dressed.

They get to the field with five minutes to spare. Louis definitely does not feel smug about that.

⬬

“Devin Lawrence is the key to the Titans defense. We shut him down, we shut down his team.”

All the Falcons players are sitting in a circle on the grass, Coach Taylor standing in the middle.

“Now, we’re not gonna be afraid of that guy,” Coach continues his speech. “We’re gonna go through him.”

Louis is sitting next to Stan, the quarterback listening attentively. Louis, on the other hand, is too busy watching Harry. It’s not his fault Harry looks absolutely _obscene_ drinking from his water bottle.

Louis’ mouth feels drier and drier by the second.

Harry catches him staring and smiles around the lip of the bottle. Louis doesn’t know if he wants to kiss him or to punch him.

He watches, helpless to do anything, as Harry deliberately works his tongue around the opening. _How is no one else noticing this?_

“Dude! Pay attention!” Stan hisses. The captain also glares at Harry for good measure. Louis feels properly chastised.

Coach is still talking when he tunes back in. “We’re gonna punch a hole through their defense and we’re gonna open the road all the way up to State!”

All the boys cheer at that and shout a collective, “Yes, sir!”

“Alright, let’s go! Bring it in! On three! One, two, three!”

“Hut!”

They all stand up after that, stretching and getting ready for the drills. Louis waits until everyone disperses to approach Harry.

“The teasing is no fun when I can’t do anything about it,” Louis pouts.

They stay behind, walking slowly as the other players assume their positions.

Harry turns to him, eyes playful. “Who says you can’t do anything about it?”

Louis punches his arm softly. “You know what I mean.”

They get to their marks and resume practice. The remaining forty minutes of drills are focused on their defense and Louis does his best to concentrate in the game. It’s exhausting, especially considering three players are injured and everyone has their work cut out for themselves. As soon as Coach is done for the day, Louis is ready to hit the showers and head home.

When he reaches the sideline, on his way to the lockers, Harry appears by side. He hooks two fingers on Louis’ pinky, making him stop walking. “Hey,” he calls softly. After confirming no one’s paying attention to them, he continues. “Wanna come over tonight?”

Louis raises his eyebrows, amused.

“I mean,” Harry licks his lips. “You were the one that wanted to do something about that.” He nods vaguely towards the place where they’d been sitting earlier. He’s got an impish look on his face, mouth curved in a knowing smirk, like Louis is his accomplice and everyone else is being deprived of their fun. Louis loves it.

“It’s a tempting offer,” Louis concedes. “I’m drained, though. I won’t be much fun tonight.”

“We can just hang out, nothing too exciting.”

Louis considers his options. On one hand, he knows they probably won’t ‘just hang out’ if he goes to Harry’s tonight. They haven’t had much time together this week and the tension has been growing exponentially, so the odds are one of them will lose his pants as soon as they close the door. On the other hand, it will do no good for him to go home sexually frustrated. He could jerk himself off in the shower, but it doesn’t come close to the feeling of Harry’s mouth wrapped around his cock. He also has no idea when it’ll be the next time they’ll have a whole night to themselves, no family or football duty.

In the end, it’s an easy choice.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” The childlike happiness in Harry’s eyes is worth the couple hours of sleep he’ll most certainly lose.

“Okay.” Louis laughs and starts walking again, Harry following closely behind. “I gotta call my mom and let her know I’ll stay out late.”

“You could just tell her we’re having a sleepover. Say we have to discuss game plans and tactics and very important football strategies.”

“There will be no sleepover, because there’ll be no  _sleep_ if I stay over.”

Harry pouts at that. “But that’s why it’d be fun.”

Louis silently congratulates himself for his restraint, because, even in the face of Harry’s suggestiveness, he doesn’t relent. “Not tonight, Haz. I need at least six hours of sleep if I plan on being a functional member of society tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Harry throws an arm over Louis’ shoulder, pulling him close. “I’ll take what I can get.”

They’re almost at the locker room when Louis speaks again. “I believe that, seeing as I’ll be your future captain, I deserve a massage tonight.” Harry stays silent, so he goes on. “For relaxing purposes. It could definitely be considered a way of _hanging out._ ”

Harry snorts. “A massage? Really?” Louis only nods in agreement. “And you say it’s my fault when we get no sleep.”

They stop at the door and separate themselves. “Okay. But I can’t say I have much knowledge about the techniques of massages”

Louis shakes his heads, fondly. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He leans up and lands a quick kiss on Harry’s lips. “I’ll see you in ten.”

“See you, baby.”

They enter the locker room at the same time, side by side.

⬬

It’s Monday night the first time Coach ever visits Louis at home.

“The Houston Tigers are interested in you,” he says simply, like he isn’t turning Louis’ world upside down. “They’re willing to offer you a full scholarship by the end of next year.”

It takes him a minute to wrap his mind around what that means, so Coach takes the opportunity to continue. “It’s not usual for them to declare an interest this early on, but they’ve seen you and Lucas playing together and they want to bring that to the college league.”

“Coach, I…” Louis stares in disbelief. “I don’t know what to say.”

“This is great news, son.” Coach nods, smiling a little. “You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself, I’m sure this won’t be the only offer you’ll receive. I just  thought it’d be good to let you know your hard work is paying off.”

Louis smiles brightly at that. “I can’t believe they’re considering me. This is incredible.” He feels breathless.

“All you gotta do is keep your head in the game,” Coach pats him on the shoulder. “They’ll be keeping an eye on you this season. Next year too.”

“I won’t let them down,” Louis says decidedly. “I won’t let you down either, Coach.”

“I believe you, son.” Coach nods again. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. You have a good night. Say hello to your mother for me.”

“Will do. Good night, sir.”

After Coach leaves, Louis closes the door. He leans back against it and lets himself think about what all of that means.

He’s got a real shot now. Becoming a professional football player is not just a far-fetched dream anymore.

“Mom!” He screams, deliriously happy. “Mom! Get down here! You won’t believe!”

⬬

The second Louis sees Harry he wants to tell him.

A second after Louis sees Harry he remembers he _can’t_ tell him.

Scouting season is always a nightmare. Between recruits bribing the players with illegal gifts and universities raising the pressure in search of verbal commitments, it’s an all-around very stressful time of the year. Too much at stake for everybody, too many chances of things going wrong. When Coach showed up at his doorstep, he hadn’t explicitly said Louis should keep his mouth shut, but it was implied.

Besides all the tension surrounding the proposals, Louis also doesn’t think it’s a good idea to set everyone’s expectations too high at this point - his included. Without an official offer and a verbal commitment, the Tigers could easily withdraw their interest.

That’s why when Louis climbs in the passenger seat of Harry’s truck on Tuesday morning he has to bite his tongue not to burst at the seams.

“Good morning, Styles!” Louis can’t talk about the offer, but nothing will take off the broad megawatt smile that’s taken over his face.

Harry is bemused. “How can you be this happy before the sun has even risen?”

Louis answers with a kiss to Harry’s shoulder.

“It’s a good day,” he says simply.

Harry’s brows are still frowned and he seems to split his attention between the road and Louis. “Are you sure y’alright?”

Louis turns to the window and bites his bottom lip. He knows he can’t share the entire truth, but it wouldn’t hurt to talk about _some_ of it, right?

“Do you ever think about where you’re going when all of this is over?”

Harry looks even more lost now. “What do you mean?”

“After high school, State, all of that. Where do you see yourself?”

This thing between them is pretty new, and, even though they’ve been kind of friends for almost two years now, the future was never a topic they discussed openly. Still, Louis is aware that Harry’s life at home is… _troublesome_ , to say the least, so he’s certain Harry might be just as anxious as him to move to the next step, the next place, the next life.

Harry rubs his left eye with a knuckle. “I dunno, babe…” He clears his throat, voice scratchy. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

Louis is not sure what to say, so he waits to see if Harry wants to elaborate.

After a few uncomfortable seconds, he does. “I guess I’ll just stick around? Maybe help Coach with the newbies, if he’ll have me?” He turns to look at Louis, as if to see if his answer was deemed enough. Louis’ face must tell him something, because he keeps going. “That guy Corden offered me a job at his shop next summer. Said I’ll bring a lot of ladies in with my face.” He arches his eyebrows, playfully.

Louis knows it’s supposed to be funny, but he’s too baffled to appreciate it. He manages to lift a corner of his mouth in an awkward smile.

Maybe Harry just hasn’t thought that far ahead yet.

They stop at a red light and Harry can finally turn to look at him properly. Louis thinks he notices the change in his demeanor, if the uncertainty in his gaze is anything to go by. “Was that what got you all chipper this morning?” Harry tries, light-hearted. “The end of high school is in the foreseeable future?”

Louis chuckles. “Yeah, that’s one good reason.”

He doesn’t understand the weird feeling in the back of his throat, so, instead of facing the intense green eyes studying him from the driver’s seat, he chooses to unlock his phone and check the team’s group chat.

“It seems like Niall has tied Josh’s cleats to the goal post again.”

Harry’s loud cackle stirs something warm inside his chest and, by the time they arrive for practice, Louis can’t pinpoint what got him worried in the first place.

⬬

Louis has just taken a bite of his sandwich when Stan slams a tray on his lunch table.

“So, I was thinking,” he starts, sitting down. “We should definitely throw me a farewell party.”

“There’s a party every Friday, Stan.”

“Yeah, but none of them are in my honor.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You’re not leaving for, like, another five months.”

Stan acts offended, glaring at him in mock indignation.

“Can you please just go with it? Who in their right mind doesn’t want a party?”

Niall appears in that moment, placing his tray next to Louis’. “What party are we talking about?”

“My farewell party,” Stans says proudly.

Niall stops mid-bite. “But you won’t leave until May.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, will you guys stop saying that? It’s obvious that the farewell party to the captain of the _football_ team has to happen before _football_ season ends.”

“Why would we say goodbye to you when you’re staying for anot--”

“Okay, shut up,” Stan interrupts Niall’s protest. “This party is happening and you’ll both help me set it up.”

Louis groans. “Can’t you get the freshmen to help you with that?”

“No, I can’t. Unless you’re down for warm beer and shit music.” Stan raises an eyebrow, as if to emphasize his point.

“Alright.” Louis sighs. “When is this party happening, then?”

“I was thinking maybe after our game with the Bears?” Stan ponders. “If we win, that means State quarterfinals. If we lose, all the more reason to drink copious amounts of alcohol.”  

“We could do it at my place,” Niall shrugs. “My folks are leaving for Mullingar next Tuesday. Won’t be back for a few days.”

“Perfect!” Stan finally digs into his food. “That’s settled, then.”

⬬

Louis is marathoning Breaking Bad with Lottie on the first week of October when he receives a text.

**_meet me at school in 15?_ **

Louis bites his bottom lip. It’s past nine in the evening, he really shouldn’t go out this late. Harry texted him, though. Louis hasn’t seen it happen many times yet, but he knows it means a lot that Harry is inviting him to be a part of the routine.

**_okay, see ya._ **

Jesse Pinkman has just shoot a guy when Louis gets up.

“Sorry, bug. You’ll have to tell me what happens next. I gotta go.”

“What? No! Jesse just killed Gale!” Lottie exclaims.

“I know, but Coach just summoned everyone to the field. I really gotta go.” Louis lies through his teeth. He feels better knowing that he _will_ be at the field, at least.

“It won’t be as fun watching it alone,” Lottie pouts.

Louis grabs the car keys on the living room table. He would normally jog to the school, but he doesn’t want to keep Harry waiting.

“Let’s continue tomorrow, then, okay?” Louis says. “If mom asks, tell her I had to go, but I won’t take long.”

When he enters the field ten minutes later, Harry is already there. He’s sitting on the ground, his back to Louis, and he’s got a pack of beer on his side.

Louis leans down to gently squeeze his shoulders. “Hey, babe.”

Harry looks up, startled. “You’re here. Hi.”

He notices Harry is already barefoot, so he sits down next to him and starts unlacing his own shoes. “I’m glad you invited me for this.”

“I’m happy you came,” Harry gives him a small smile.

Louis finishes taking off his Vans, placing them at his side. He extends out a hand, silently asking Harry for a bottle of beer, which is promptly handed to him.

“Is everything alright?” he asks.

Harry purses his lips and nods, stiff. Louis takes a swig of his beer and waits while Harry takes his time. He wouldn’t have asked for company if he didn’t want to talk.

It takes him a couple of minutes, but he finally says, “My dad called. Again.” He licks his lips before gulping down some of his own beer. “He wants money.”

Louis doesn’t know much about Harry’s family besides the fact his parents aren’t around. He knows Harry lives with his sister, and that she isn’t very present in his life, but that’s it.

“Is he in some kind of trouble?” Louis asks, uncertain. He has no idea how to navigate through this subject matter.

To his surprise, Harry snorts. A bitter, humorless sound. “Probably,” he says around the lip of his bottle.

Louis watches his profile, trying to understand. Considering he has an absent father himself, it shouldn’t be hard for him to know how Harry is feeling. He thinks he recognizes the sentiment behind Harry’s locked jaw and sharp eyes, but he doesn’t want to assume he knows enough to read him like that just yet.

“That’s the only reason he calls,” Harry continues after a moment. “To ask for money. I guess he heard about Gemma’s new job and remembered he has two kids.”

Louis can’t think of anything to say that will comfort him, so he decides to simply lean closer, bumping their shoulders together.

“I didn’t even let him finish,” Harry says after taking one last sip of his beer, finishing the bottle. “I hung up as soon as he said the word ‘cash’.”  

Louis frowns. He hates how resentful Harry sounds. He’s used to a very easygoing, joking Harry. Worst case scenario, he’s familiar with pissed off, fullback Harry. It’s his first time meeting this stony version of him and Louis would very much like to lift the weight that’s pushing Harry’s shoulders down at the moment.

“I called him, you know? A few weeks ago, when Coach said I would be starting against the Titans.” Harry reaches out to grab another bottle, efficiently taking the cap off. “It sounds so stupid now. It’s embarrassing.”

Louis doesn’t like Harry’s self-deprecating tone. He rests his forehead against the boy’s shoulder. “It’s not embarrassing, Haz,” he says into the fabric of Harry’s hoodie. “He’s your dad, of course you’d want him to be there.”

Harry shakes his head. “I should know better, though.”

Louis looks up at that. He lets go of his bottle and wipes the condensation off his hand. When he’s sure his hand is not too cold anymore, he reaches up and softly turns Harry’s face to him. “Listen to me. You shouldn’t ever feel bad for having faith in your own father.”

“It was stupid to think he’d be proud of me.” Harry whispers. “He doesn’t give a shit.”

Louis’ heart breaks for him. He thought he understood Harry’s situation, but he doesn’t. Not at all. Louis’ got his mom, he’s got his sisters. They come to watch every game. They cheer when he scores a touchdown, they comfort him when they lose. They support his every decision. Harry apparently has got nobody.

“You deserve better than them,” Louis says, fiercely. He doesn’t think he has to specify who _they_ are. He gently pulls Harry forward to kiss his lips. “You’re an amazing player, and a good person. You deserve to have a whole stand cheering for you.”

Harry’s hands find their way to Louis’, still cradling his face. He pulls on one of them and brings it to his lips, to kiss its palm. “Thank you.”

Harry kisses it one more time before dropping it, facing forward again. “What about you? Any demons you wanna get off your chest?”

His tone is light for the first time this evening, but his words make Louis shift uncomfortably. The first thing that comes to his mind is the scholarship.

After opening his heart so fully to their previous conversation, it’s suddenly really hard for Louis to stop himself from sharing the inexplicable apprehensiveness he felt when faced with Harry’s aspirations for the future - or lack thereof.

He hardly thinks Harry deserves to go through one more trial tonight, though.

Louis swallows and decides to go on a more light-hearted route. “The only demon I have to fight is that Bears’ six feet tall linebacker.”

Harry laughs, amused, and pulls Louis closer to his side, kissing his temple. Louis tries not to feel like he’s just dodged a bullet.

⬬

“I can’t believe I finally found one!”

Louis stops mid-phrase, whatever he’d been saying to Niall momentarily forgotten due to the look of  pure delight on Harry’s face.

There’s a group of them gathered on Niall’s backyard, Stan’s mock farewell party in full swing. There are people all around the house — they actually did win the game, so everyone has a lot to celebrate — but Louis’ favorites are all out here, sitting on Niall’s mom’s worn-out sunbeds or on the edge of the pool.

“A football one!” Harry explains, ecstatic, holding up a bottle cap.

Louis immediately understands what he’s talking about.

“Holy fuck! Did you really?” He holds out his hand, waiting for Harry to give him the cap so he can take a look.

Surely enough, when Louis turns it towards the light coming from the house, he can see the faint drawing of a football on top of it.

“What the fucking hell are y’all talking about?” Stan drawls, voice heavy after drinking for hours.

Niall, Greg and Josh have also stopped what they were doing to stare at Harry questioningly.

“Harry has this bottle cap collection,” Louis explains, giving the cap back to Harry. “He’s got all sorts of them, ones with drawings on it and stuff.”

“Oh, and he just found a football one. Got it,” Niall nods.

“You’re a weird kid, Styles,” Greg gets up and ruffles Harry’s hair. “I’m running low, gonna grab another one of these,” he shakes his empty bottle.

“I’m coming with you,” Josh stands up. “I think I saw Stacy out front earlier. I’m gonna go say hello.”

After they all rightfully tease Josh about his crush, Niall also gets up to go to the toilet. That leaves Harry and Louis sitting with their feet dangling in the pool while Stan messes with his phone on one of the sunbeds.

Louis is surprised when Harry silently offers him the football bottle cap back.

“What?” Louis startles. “You’re giving it to me?”

“You can keep it,” Harry shrugs.

“What do you mean? You’ve been looking for this one!”

“Now that I have it I wanna give it to you, though,” Harry says stubbornly, as if it makes any sense whatsoever.

Louis opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know why it feels like a big deal, but it does.

Maybe it’s because he knows it is a big deal _to Harry_. It might seem silly to others, but Harry is a person of unassuming taste. An — admittedly endearing — bottle cap collection is enough to make him happy. Or maybe it’s because the bottle cap in question actually reminds him _of Harry_. Beer and football all wrapped into one, or some other metaphor as bad as that.

In the end, Louis answers with a quiet, “Thank you.”

The sound of Stan’s drunken voice startles them both. “You two are disgusting.”

⬬

Louis feels an armrest poking his back when Harry presses him against the door of his truck. They’re parked in the far corner of the school’s parking lot and they should have left the car ten minutes ago.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Louis knows he should be more worried about being found making out with the team’s fullback inside of his car, but at the moment he’s not exactly thinking clearly.

Harry is relentless, alternating between little nibbles on Louis’ bottom lip and exploring the insides of Louis’ mouth with his tongue. Louis’ hand is inside Harry’s shirt, running over his warm skin, and it’s taking everything in him to not take all of his clothes off. He indulges himself in clawing his way down Harry’s back.

Harry moans and finally frees Louis mouth to attack his neck, giving him the opportunity to gasp, “We should go.”

Harry moans again, this time in displeasure. To prove his point, he grinds his semi against Louis’ groin. That starts another round of heated kisses and roaming touches. In the end, Harry manages to successfully unzip Louis’ jeans and slip a hand inside his boxers, wrapping his fingers around Louis’ cock.

“Shit! Fuck, Harry. I’m serious,” Louis pants, out of breath.

Harry looks up from where his hand is, pupils dilated and lips swollen. Louis has to close his eyes to concentrate.

“We’re gonna be so fucking _laaaaate_ ,” he hisses when Harry thumbs over the head of his cock. “Oh, god.”

Harry works his way down Louis’ body, stopping to drop a kiss on his hipbone. “Fifteen minutes”

“There’s no way you can get me off in fifteen minutes.”

That earns him a chuckle. “Give me some credit.”

Turns out Harry has a very talented mouth, because fifteen minutes later they’re geared up and entering the football field, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

By the looks of it, practice hasn’t started that long ago. Some players are still warming up on the sidelines while others help the assistant couches set up the tackle dummies. Still, Coach is not pleased with their lateness.

“Good morning, gentlemen!” He shouts halfway across the field, clearly pissed off. “Is there a good reason why my running back and fullback kept us all waiting on this fine morning?”

Louis feels his face and neck heat in embarrassment. “No, sir.” Louis looks down. “I’m sorry.”

“Being sorry doesn’t win semifinal games. Do you know what wins semifinal games, Tomlinson? Getting to practice on time!”

“I’m sorry, Coach. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” He turns to Harry, who’s taken his position behind Stan. “And don’t think I don’t know this was your doing, Styles.”

Harry doesn’t answer, keeping his head down in respect.

“Alright, everybody, get your asses in position. Let’s do our job. Let’s go!”

⬬

“The Oklahoma State’s stadium is fucking sick.” Louis is lying on his stomach on Harry’s bed, scrolling down on his phone. Niall has just sent him a list of the best football stadiums in the country. “They have wraparound LED scoreboards between levels, Haz. Holy shit.”

Harry enters the room holding two open bottles of beer in one hand and a plate of french fries in the other. “That’s pretty awesome.”

Louis accepts the beer he’s offered and takes five fries, stuffing them all in his mouth at once. “All Stan talks about is that TDECU stadium and how he’ll be _‘playing on a greener, more expensive grass_ ’ soon,” Louis uses his sticky fingers to make quote marks in the air. “I doubt he’ll have wraparound scoreboards, though.”

Harry hums, sitting next to where Louis is lying and leaving the plate of fries on his bedside table.

“Ohio’s got the best one, though, I reckon,” Louis observes, distractedly loosing the grip on his bottle as he studies the screen of his phone.

Harry rests his left hand on the back of Louis’ thigh at the same time he uses his bottle to balance Louis’ own. “Why is that?”

Louis smiles at him in thanks, promptly taking a sip. “Because they have LED scoreboards _and_ they build a bonfire the night before every game” He says after he swallows. “It’s a shame it’s so far away.”

That seems to get Harry’s attention.

“Ohio, you said?”

“Yeah,” Louis answers absentmindedly, reaching over Harry to grab new a handful of fries. “My mum would kill me if I moved all the way up there. And that would happen only after she’d disinherited me.”

“Would you, though?”

“Would I what?”

“Move all the way up there.” Harry’s got this weird frown between his eyebrows.

Louis opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. He closes it, thinks for a second and tries again. “I don’t think they’d ever be interested in me, Haz.” He feels stupid saying it out loud. It seems pretty obvious to him.

That answer is not enough to help ease the frown on Harry’s face.

They watch each other for what feels like a lifetime and it’s strange. _Estranged_.

In a second, it dawns on him.

Louis doesn’t understand why Harry hasn’t thought about leaving this place. Harry doesn’t understand why Louis would want to.

Suddenly, his mouth feels really dry. He gulps half of his beer down in one go.

⬬

“Do you think your boyfriend would let me borrow his truck to move some of my stuff?” Stan asks without taking his eyes off the TV. They’re playing FIFA and Louis is two seconds from scoring another goal. “I don’t think it’ll all fit in my parents’ car.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Louis replies. “And I don’t think he’d let you take his truck to Houston, no.”

When Stan doesn’t say anything, Louis pauses the game and turns to him. He’s met with a skeptical look and a raised eyebrow.

“What?” Louis asks. “It’s not like you’re some exemplary driver. Niall’s rear view mirror would beg to differ.”

“That happened _once_! And that’s not what I mean, anyway,” Stan says.

Louis takes a second to understand. “Oh, shut up, Stan. You know he’s not my boyfriend. It’s a lot less serious than that.”

“It looks pretty serious from where I’m standing, dude.”

“Well, it’s not,” Louis starts, trying to get his thoughts in order. “We’re friends. And we’re comfortable around each other.”

Stan stays silent, so Louis feels like he still has to explain himself. “We mess around a bit, I guess.” He receives a raised eyebrow for that. “C’mon, Stan. Harry and I are not relationship material.”

“You just described a perfectly healthy relationship.” Stan looks genuinely confused.

He has a point. Still. “It’s not like I’m planning my future with him.”

He would like to say that the words leaving his own mouth surprise him, but the only surprise is how long it took for them to find their way to the surface.

It’s been almost a month since Coach showed up on his doorstep and offered him the future he has always dreamed of. It’s been almost a month since Harry has made it clear that he has no intention of leaving this town. Louis has been actively trying not to think about it, but, in the end, their futures don’t match.

If Louis is being honest with himself, he _does_ think he and Harry are relationship material. The thought hits him whenever Harry invites Louis to stay behind after a tough game and helps him take off his cleats. Whenever Harry cooks him breakfast before even putting on clothes, because he knows Louis needs to get to practice on time. Whenever Harry refills his water bottle during said practice because Louis is too busy trying to nail the new play Coach has just thrown at him. Whenever Harry calls him “baby”.

He can see a life with Harry in it, just not in the immediate future. He can see a life with Harry after he’s established himself as a professional player and Harry has figured out what he wants to do with his life.

“I’m not gonna start something serious now,” Louis declares in a tone of finality. “There’s a lot going on and things are good the way they are. I don’t wanna complicate it.”

“Alright,” Stan raises on shoulder in surrender. “If you say so.”

⬬

It’s the last minute of the second quarter when the Titans’ fullback knocks Greg James off his feet. When he gets up, it’s to slowly limp towards the sidelines with the help of one of the assistant coaches.

When the third quarter of the semifinal starts, Harry is their starting fullback.

Louis is torn between apprehension and excitement. On one hand, Greg is an experienced and exceptionally good player. The Falcons have been doing a good job so far — they’re eight points ahead — but losing their six foot four fullback can be the blow that makes them lose it all and Stan’s tight expression offers Louis no comfort.

On the other hand, Harry gives him a relaxed side smirk that reminds him that they’ve talked about this and they’ve prepared for this scenario. Coach had considered the possibility of Greg’s injury making a comeback after playoffs and had set up a couple extra practices with Harry - which, as much as he had tried, Louis has never been privy to.

“Relax, twenty-eight,” he says as he walks past Louis, getting into position. “We’re getting to that final.”

Louis nods at him. He really hopes Harry is right.

After ten minutes, Louis is annoyed. At _himself_. Because he can’t. Fucking. Concentrate.

Coach has been giving him a series of very expressive hand gestures from the sideline and Stan keeps looking at him weird, but Louis has no idea how to fix this. Harry, bless him, has been playing nothing short of perfect, clearing out the path for him to score more than once, but it seems like Louis’ mind is elsewhere.

“Bro,” Stan corners him when time out is called. “What’s going on?!”

Louis takes longer than he normally would to gulp down his water bottle, trying to organize his thoughts. “It’s like my brain was put through a blender,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“ _What_?”

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, Stan.” He’s so angry. “I can’t follow the plays for more than five seconds.”

“Tommo, what on earth are you talking about? You just have to watch the ball coming, catch it and get through that damn line in the endzone.”

Louis closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, frustrated. Stan doesn’t understand.

The whistle blows and they’ve got a little over fifteen minutes to guarantee their place in the final. Louis has got a lot less than that to get his shit together.

⬬

It hits him when Harry scores a touchdown, the entire play running its course without Louis touching the football once.

Stan starts the play handing the ball to Horan, who runs off along the right side of the field. Up until then, Louis was _in_ it, his own legs carrying him towards the rehearsed spot much faster than the linebacker guarding him. It’s then, however, that Niall, facing two Titans players coming for him, follows the course of the practiced play and passes the ball to Harry, unmarked on the far left side.

As soon Harry gets a hold on the ball, Louis feels his body slowing down. He gradually loses speed until he’s completely still by the time Harry reaches the end zone.

It’s definitely not a conscious decision, seeing as he’s supposed to work as a backup in case the play goes to shit before the Falcons can score. He can’t help it, though, because once _Harry_ is in, Louis is checked out. He has no idea at what point in time that became a thing, but he clearly hasn’t been able to shake it off today.

Louis feels self-conscious about his diagnosis, looking around the field, the sidelines, to see if anyone else noticed his shortcomings. His blood runs cold when the one stare he meets is Coach’s.

“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. What the hell are you doing, Tommo?”

He tries to put on a smile for his teammates celebrating around him. A touchdown means winning. Winning means State final.

 _That cannot happen again_.

“Did you see that?!” Harry’s fast approaching, still a few steps away from him. “That Titan is still looking for the ball right now!” He sounds absolutely elated.

“I saw that, yes,” Louis grins and his cheeks hurt. Not in a good way. “It was amazing.”

“State, baby!”

Louis is glad when Harry hugs him around the waist because he can finally hide his strained expression in Harry’s neck.

 _That cannot happen again_.

⬬  

Harry’s got this small mole right between his shoulder blades and Louis has been starting at it for almost an hour.

It’s the first Saturday he’s waking up in Harry’s bed. It’s the first time ever he’s waking up in Harry’s bed, actually. Up until last night, he’s never agreed to staying over because his mom would worry, because they had practice the next morning, because it was never that serious between them. Because, because, because.

For some masochist reason, when Harry had begged him to _please, let him celebrate having Louis’ cock in his mouth six to Sunday_ , he had said yes.

Deep down, he’s self-aware enough to know that this is some twisted way of his to try to sort out what exactly he’s doing

Right now, Louis knows that this overexposure is an attempt to understand the way his mind works when it comes to Harry. He’s already admitted to himself that there’s no impending future for them. He knows that Harry is good for him. Or at least Harry is good for him _outside the field_.

No. That’s not true. They’ve worked perfectly in tune with each other before, Louis’ performance even improving at times due to their awareness of each other. So why the fuck is it all going to shit now?

The sun is hitting Harry’s back _just so_ and Louis needs to touch it. Needs to feel the warm skin against his fingertips and grasp at the straws of what is _good_ about this.

He softly caresses the line of Harry’s back with his fingertips, from the bottom of his spine to the little mole he’s been watching. Harry stirs, slowly moving the blanket off his thighs a little. The breath catches in Louis’ throat. He runs his fingers back down, to see if they’ll have the same effect again.

“You should stay over more often.”

Louis shivers at the sound of Harry’s deliciously rough voice. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he feels compelled to wrap his arms around Harry’s waist, pulling him to his chest and burying his face in Harry’s tangled curls.

“Wow, you should _definitely_ stay over more often.” He sounds so _endearing_.

“It’s cold and you’re warm,” Louis mumbles.

Harry hums at that. His left arm comes to rest on top of Louis’ one on his belly, his pointer finger tracing the bruises on Louis’ knuckles. “I could lend you my tape, if you want to.”

That makes Louis come up for air, taking his lips off the spot Harry’s shoulder meets his neck. “What?”

“Your fingers. I quite like them. I want to take care of them.”

 _See_ , Louis thinks, _Harry is good to him_.

“Haz, I…”

When he doesn’t keep going, Harry turns around. Louis is hesitant to meet his eyes, so he stares at the necklaces resting on Harry’s tanned chest.

He doesn’t press the issue, just waits for Louis to finish his thought, and that’s even _worse_.

“I…” Louis takes a deep breath. When he finally looks up, he’s met with puzzled sleepy eyes. ”I’m really worried about this last game.”

God, he’s so fucked. He misses Harry already and he is still right there.

Harry laughs gently. “Yeah, baby. I’d find it weird if you weren’t. You know, being you.”

 _Jesus christ_.

“No, that’s not-” Louis cuts off and tries again. “I think I need to really center myself, you know? I feel kinda off.”

Harry sits up slightly and tilts his head to one side. “What are you saying?”

“I mean,” Louis also sits up, hooking his right ankle around Harry’s left one. “Can we put this on hold? Until we win those State rings?”

Harry seems to mull this over for a moment before he speaks, his tone is light. “I guess I just don’t understand how being sexually frustrated could help you score some touchdowns, but. Yeah, sure. Whatever you need.”

Louis’ impulse is to kiss whichever part of Harry is closest to him, which ends up being his shoulder. “Thank you.”

He gets a kiss on his lips in return. “Don’t mention it.”

⬬

Who knew six days could drag for _so fucking long_?

It’s been the slowest, most miserable week of Louis’ life, ruthless training sessions coupled with overbearing anxiety and a small dose of insomnia. He feels just about ready to implode when he ties his cleats for the last time this season.

His mom texts to let him know they’re already outside. She also sends him a pic of the twins in their little jerseys, excited grins on their faces. Normally, his family support would alleviate the pressure, but at the moment he feels like puking his guts out.

None of the guys are in the mood for much talk, it seems, everyone doing their own thing and the locker room is eerily quiet. Louis can see Josh doing a cross sign two lockers away, Greg speaking in low tones with Niall next to the door and Stan finishing putting on his gear next to him. This last one actually catches him staring.

“Are you okay, Tommo?” Stan says, tone gentle. Louis must really look scared out of his mind.

“I’ve never played a State final before.”

Stan smiles in understanding. “You’ve got this, bro.” He lays his hand on Louis’ shoulder, pressing slightly. “It’s the same 60 minutes as ever. You just have to let your superhuman legs do what they always do.”

Louis feels affection burning bright in his chest. “I’m gonna miss you next season, cap.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll call me every day to ask for wise captainy advices.”

Louis smiles despite himself. “You know that’s still not a done deal.”

“Yeah, whatever. You can keep your modesty to yourself.” Stan laughs.

“Alright, gentlemen, good afternoon!” Coach’s resounding voice suddenly fills the room. “Listen up! This is what we’ve been waiting for. This is what we worked so hard for.”

All the boys have turned to face Coach and his assistants, sober expressions on everyone’s faces.

“We’re here. It’s the championship game of the season and thirty thousand people out there have come to watch you play like champions. Your mamas, your girlfriends, your friends, they’ve all come to watch you play like champions, and we are not gonna let them down tonight.”

“No, sir!” All their voices become one inside the locker room.

“We’re gonna get out there and take what we’ve fought for. Tonight we’re leaving this stadium as State champions, gentlemen. Let’s go get them!”

Cheers erupt from all sides, all the boys hugging and clapping each other in the back. Louis has just wrapped his arms around Niall when he hears his name being called.

“Tomlinson! Can I have a word outside?”

“I’m sure you’re about to get your promotion,” Niall says, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

“Not after that horrendous semifinal, Nialler.” Contradicting his words, the butterflies in his stomach flutter their wings relentlessly in anticipation. He catches sight of kind green eyes staring at him over Niall’s shoulder.

Harry sends him an endearingly awkward thumbs up sign from across the room. Louis gives him a small smile and hopes that’s enough to convey his gratitude.

He leaves the lockers and finds Coach waiting for him in the hallway. “Wanted to see me, Coach?”

“Yes, son. Follow me, please.”

They walk in silence, heading for the main door that leads to the football field. Coach doesn’t stop walking until they’re stepping on the green grass that’ll bear witness to history being made in a few moments. Louis can hear the public settling into their seats

“You’ve been an outstanding player these last couple of months, son,” are Coach’s first words. “It’s no secret that you’re the number one on the list of candidates for captain next season.”

 _Holy shit, this is really happening_.

“But I wanted to talk to you first, because your main strength is also your weak point.”

_Hm, what._

“I’m not sure I follow, Coach.”

“You play football with more heart than any player I’ve seen in a long time.” The man’s amber eyes burn a hole through Louis’ skin. “But you also lose yourself in your passion and it can be quite difficult to bring you back to the game.”

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to that, so he stares resolutely at the shoelaces of his cleats.

“It’s happened a few times since the playoffs and I don’t think I have to tell you that your performance last week was less than stellar, but I need you to do better today, son. Your teammates need you to do better.”

“I understand, sir. That won’t happen again.”

“I don’t want you to see this as some kind of punishment, because it’s not.” Coach takes a deep breath. “Playing the State finals is a once in a lifetime opportunity, maybe twice, if you’re really lucky. You want to give it your best. Whatever it is that’s holding you back, it’s gotta stay outside of this field tonight. You understand?”

Louis nods. “Yes, Coach.”

“Alright. Then, let’s do this.”

⬬

The Falcons’ have just won State and Louis is on cloud nine.

The field is flooding with people dressed in dark blue and yellow — coach assistants, family members and fans forming one huge wave surging towards them — the excitement and the love so intense they’re almost palpable.

Louis has no idea who’s hugging him right now. It might be a coach assistant, or a ball boy. It might be the mayor, for all he knows.

“Good job! Such a good job!” says a thundering voice next to his ear.

Turns out the person is Coach.

“Thank you, Coach,” he can feel himself getting choked up. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

Coach pulls away, but only far enough to hold him by the shoulders. “Did me proud today, kid.”

Before Louis can answer, two arms wrap around him from behind. “We won! State Champions, baby! State fucking Champions!”

Niall is delirious with joy. Louis feels like his own face might break from how hard he’s smiling. “That’s us, Nialler!”

Niall, from the looks of it, is on a commemorative run. With a wet kiss to Louis’ cheek, he moves on to the next player he can get his hands on, not wasting any time spreading his love around.

It so happens, the next player Niall finds is Harry.

Niall holds Harry’s face in his hands and plants a kiss on his forehead, screaming something that sounds like, “I love you, you beautiful fucker!”

Louis feels his heart grow five times its size at Harry’s answering smile. It also shrinks to nothing when he remembers what he needs to do.

 _It’s gotta stay outside of the field_.

A couple of fans walk past him, big smiles on their faces as they clap him on the back and Louis tries to get back into the festive mood. He steals a bunch of blue and yellow balloons from a random girl passing by his side, winking brightly when she turns around in outrage. Her frown quickly dissolves when she sees who’s stolen her balloons.

“Congratulations, Tommo!” She exclaims gleefully.

“Thanks, darling!”

He walks around, hugging teammates and thanking anyone that has come to root for them. This moment feels big, memorable, unique. He can’t imagine a life without football, without this feeling of fulfillment.

“Baby.”

Lost in his own bliss, Louis hadn’t noticed Harry coming in his direction. He doesn’t hesitate to hug him back, though, when Harry wraps an arm around his neck. “Alright?” Harry asks.

“Much more than alright, I reckon.”

 _It’s gotta stay outside of the field_.

“You did it!” Harry chuckles, his warm breath tickling the skin of his neck. The radiant feeling in  Louis’ chest is stronger than ever, now that he’s got Harry in his arms.

“I did nothing by myself,” he shakes his head, stepping back. “We all deserve this. You deserve this too, Hazza.”

Harry’s hands find their way to Louis’ jaw, holding tight. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

_There’s no impending future for them._

_It’s gotta stay outside._

Louis bites his tongue, squeezing Harry’s waist a little bit tighter.

 _Your main strength is also your weak point_.

_Can we put this on hold?_

“Louis?”

“Yeah?”

Harry looks bemused. “Still with me? You’re acting weird.”

Louis can hear a group of people chanting some horrible Falcon anthem in the background, far away.

_I guess I’ll just stick around? Maybe help Coach with the newbies._

His fingers slowly loosen the grasp he’s got on Harry’s jersey.

“I’m here. Just happy, you know?” Louis answers.

He knows what he needs to do.

 _It’s gotta stay outside_.

**END OF FLASHBACK**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://www.tofiveohfive.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/tofiveohfive)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on a roll! two updates in less than a week, woo-hoo! you'd think i'm desperate to finish this or something haha.  
> this chapter is not as long as the others, but a lot happens in it, so i hope it's worth it! 
> 
> warnings: some of the details describing the football plays and game stuff might have suffered influence from the world cup and might blend in with some soccer lingo. also, if you're a friday night lights fan, you might notice some similarities to a few scenes from the show. i hope you don't mind!
> 
> this is also unbetad, so please let me know if you find any inaccuracies.  
> enjoy!

 

Louis has a policy of not dwelling on things he’s left behind, both literally and figuratively. He tries not to think about Reggie, the american foxhound he had to say goodbye to when Jay left Mark. He tries not to think about the drama classes he had to drop, so he’d have more time for practices. Most of all, he tries really hard not to think about Harry Styles.

Life, though, just loves to throw little Harry reminders in his face. Be it a well-worn green beanie buried under the cushions or a forgotten elbow pad found inside his duffle bag, the souvenirs always make his knees buckle. It always make it just a bit harder for Louis to go through the motions for the rest of the day.

It’s a Wednesday afternoon when he finds another one of those reminders. Practice has ended twenty minutes ago and Louis is alone in the lockers, more than used to being the last one to leave. Today, a very dirty pair of socks found among his gear has prompted a cleaning up session of his locker before he hit the showers.

Amidst batting away some stray grass, Louis hears the sound of something metallic hitting the floor. It takes him a few seconds to locate what has fallen, but, when he does, he feels his stomach dropping to the ground itself. It’s a beer bottle cap. Louis doesn’t have to turn it around to see the football drawn on the top. He remembers when he was given this and and _who_ gave it to him. He remembers why this bottle cap was important enough to keep.

He takes a few deep breaths. It’s stupid that such a small piece of metal can make his lungs feel like they’re collapsing, but all he can think about is how delighted Harry had looked when he spotted Louis hiding it in his locker. “ _For good luck,_ ” Louis had said at the time, self-consciously. Harry’s dimple in response to that had been deep enough to build a house in it.

He reaches down to pick it up, twisting the bottle top between his fingers, an odd feeling in his gut. He doesn’t feel like cleaning up anymore. Swallowing dry, he finishes packing the couple dirty clothes he’s taken out of his locker, left fist closed tight around his burning reminder of Harry.

For half a second, he considers disposing of it — the logical part of his brain screaming that _he should_ get rid of everything that distracts him from football — but as soon as the thought crosses his mind, he knows he can’t do it. This is a piece of what they had, as silly as it sounds, and Louis already gave up everything else. He has no lazy mornings spent in bed anymore, no sudden bursts of laughter in the middle of the night, no burned toast in the morning, no sleepy conversations before class. He’s earned the right to keep this fragment of their happiness to himself. Just this once.

To hell with his policy.

He closes his locker for the night, but not before placing the bottle cap next to his picture of the twins on the shelf.

⬬

Louis’ mom is the smartest person he knows. She made a miracle out of the chances she was given, working two jobs, sometimes three, while raising five good kids. She never went to college, but that never stopped her from being the best at what she does, and she’s been through enough shit that she learned to be really good at dealing with people.

That’s why Louis finds himself asking, “Do you think I did the right thing with Harry?”

It’s after dinner and they’re cleaning up the kitchen, the girls are in the living room watching a movie while Jay washes and Louis dries the dishes.

His question makes his mom pause her actions. “I can’t answer that question for you, sweetheart.”

He leans against the counter, putting down the dishcloth. “It’s just that,” he sighs, “It shouldn’t feel this shitty if it was the right decision, right?”

She turns to consider him, her eyes kind. “The most important decisions are usually the most hurtful ones.” Louis has no doubt she’s speaking from experience. “That’s not to say that just because it hurts it was right.”

She sounds really smart, but her answer does nothing to quench the tight feeling in his gut. “How do I know, then?”

She goes back to work, rinsing the tray in her hands. “Maybe you should think back on your reason for doing it,” she says.

“I did it so that we could have a chance.” He starts, the practiced speech on the tip of his tongue. “Both of us. So that we both could grow to be more than what this town had planned for us.” He pushes down the voice in his head saying that Harry never intended to leave this town in the first place. His mom doesn’t look convinced by his words yet, her expression slightly skeptic, so he keeps going. “We weren’t focused, football was the last thing on our minds, and we needed to be better. _I_ needed to be better.”

Jay bites her lips and seems to think it over. She has finished washing the cutlery when she asks, “Are you? More focused?”

Louis swallows. The answer is clearly a resounding _no_.

“Do you feel like you’re better at it, now that Harry’s no longer in the picture?”

If the sympathy on her face is anything to go by, she knows the answer just as well as he does.

⬬

Texas is too damn hot. Texas is especially hot when you’re sitting between two _very_ passionate teenage boys playing video games.

“In what world was that fair?! You can’t be serious, Josh!”

“In every world, Horan.” Josh laughs around the rim of his beer bottle. “Don’t be such a sore loser.”

Niall splutters at that. “You literally put your foot in my face! How was I supposed to see--”

“This is a serious and competitive tournament, WR. We win by all means necessary.”

“Does death of a player mean win by WO, then?” Resentful Niall is hardly anything other than hilarious, but Louis gives him credit for trying.

Josh tries to school his face into a horrified expression, but his flushed cheeks and begrudging smile ruin it. “Not when you’ve already lost! Fair and square!”

Niall looks ready to start ranting again and Louis takes that as his cue to get up and find some more chips.

“Sorry, boys. Excuse me,” he grabs a hold of both their knees and pushes himself up. “Does anyone want more food? This is your chance, speak now or never.”

The floor of Niall’s living room looks abominable. There are eight football players spread across the floor, among empty chips packages, beer bottles and coke cans. Few guys were lucky enough to score seats on the fine furniture paid by Niall’s parents, and Liam Payne is one of them.

“One more coke for me,” he says, placing his empty can on the ground, next to his feet. ”Thanks, Tommo.”

Louis feels oddly proud, seeing Liam so comfortable around the team. It took a while, but the private training sessions did have a positive effect on the QB’s confidence and performance. Coach only had to call him out twice during their last game, and, later, when they were all piled together in the locker room, listening to Coach’s feedback, Louis saw several players congratulating Liam on a game well played.

“You got it,” Louis says, picking up a few discarded bottles and packages to throw away in the kitchen. His mom _did_ raise him well, after all.

It’s when he’s arms deep in the freezer, grabbing Liam’s coke and one more beer to himself, that he hears, “Hey, fifty-seven! You showed up!”

Niall’s elated tone sounds bizarre to his ears, since Louis himself suddenly feels like putting his head inside the freezer and staying there for the rest of the night. There’s only one jersey in Groves with the number fifty-seven on it, and it has always been followed by the Styles name right under it.

He feels his entire body stiffen at the sound of Harry’s voice. “Have you ever known me for missing free booze, Horan?”

He sounds cheery, playful. That, most of all, is what makes Louis hesitate in going back to the living room. He doesn’t want to ruin anybody’s night, doesn’t want the air to be filled by the irremediable tension that follows him and Harry whenever they’re within five feet from each other. He can’t stay in the kitchen forever, though, so he takes a deep breath and heads back towards the good-natured profanities being hurled in the next room, swallowing the bile rising in his throat.

He plans on going back to his place on the couch as discreetly as possible, but, as fate would have it, that place is now occupied.

Louis feels a bit like an intruder, stock-still in the doorway, grip so tight around the ice cold bottle and soda can that it hurts his hands.

“Took you long enough, Tommo,” says Josh after a moment, oblivious to Louis’ dilemma. “Now Styles here has taken your turn.”

Harry’s head whips around so fast Louis suspects he dislocates something in the process. Their eyes meet and Louis tries with all his might to tone down the automatic defensiveness in his stance. They’ve seen each other a couple of times since Harry turned his back on Louis that Monday night, and while there hasn’t been any argument or even a tense disagreement between them, there hasn’t been any amicable conversation either.

Harry doesn’t look away, even when Louis moves to hand Liam his soda, his skin crawling with the heat of the unwavering stare. “And you claim this is a fair tournament,” Louis tuts at Josh. “You’re a dirty liar, Devine.”

He shuffles his feet awkwardly, not really knowing where he fits now that Harry is here. It’s not long before Niall beckons him closer and pulls Louis to sit on his lap, sending Harry a sideway glance.

Louis can’t tell if he’s imagining it or if the air has really become as thick as it feels to him.

“‘M not gonna lie, Styles. You’re kinda late to the party,” Josh says with his mouth full of chips. “You’ll have to put in some crazy work if you want a chance at this championship.”

Harry laughs and clears his throat, securing his bottle between his legs and gripping the playstation controller tight with both hands. “Whoever is winning this, I hope you’re ready to be beaten,” he announces good-naturally. “It’s not about winners or losers, but ‘m gonna win.”

Louis has to bit hard on his bottom lip to stop his surprised smile. _Oh, Harry_.

“That would be our captain, o’ captain,” Liam says, ever so helpful.

Niall chooses that moment to wrap his arm loosely around Louis’ waist and, whatever it means, Louis is grateful for it.

“Of course it is,” Harry answers under his breath.

Louis downs a third of his beer in an attempt to silence the voice in his head, the one saying that he’d gladly give up the dumb FIFA finals if it meant a happy Harry.

⬬

Turns out Louis doesn’t have to face Harry in their FIFA tournament after all. The fullback barely makes it through two matches before being crossed off. If they were on good terms, Louis would point out that the boy would have a much better chance if he actually focused on the screen, instead of throwing moody glances at Louis every five minutes.

He tries not to take it personally how scarce the audience for their epic final match is. The crowd started shortening once parents and curfews started calling and, by the time Louis and Liam finally battle for the golden cup and the glory -- those being actually a six pack and freedom of tackle dummy duty for the rest of the year -- only a handful of the guys are there to witness Louis uphold his winning streak. It’s been going for three seasons, not that he’s proud of it or anything.

When it’s over, Niall celebrates “ _the end of another successful championship, lads_ ”, singing some unintelligible irish song while dangling his bottle from side to side. Josh pulls Liam aside and provides him some very drunk insights of where he went wrong in the final game. That leaves only Harry, sleepily stretched on the couch, fiddling with an empty package of chips.

Louis doesn’t waver when the boy looks up and catches him staring. It’s been happening a lot lately, being caught on the spot, but he can’t stop himself from avidly watching Harry’s expressions and searching for… _something_. When he doesn’t look away, Harry’s eyebrows knit in a puzzled frown.

Louis remembers when he won this same competition last year. Greg James had sunkenly taken the second place while Stan and Niall had lifted Louis on their shoulders and dropped him in the backyard pool in celebration. Amidst the loud mess of their teammates, Harry had found his way to Louis underwater and pecked him a small congratulatory kiss. He can’t fathom how wrong it is that Harry is so far away this time around.

By now, Louis is used to the tight grip that takes hold of his windpipe whenever they look at each other, but after the talk with his mom, it all seems sharper, more urgent. He won’t play dumb with himself. He knows things are not as black and white as he thought they were a year ago. There’s a giant gray area in between and he screwed up monumentally when he decided to surgically cut off Harry from his life, no questions asked.

He tries to arrange his tipsy thoughts in some kind of order, tries to come up with a somewhat harmless sentence that won’t push Harry away like it did last time, but, before the words reach his mouth, Harry gets up, declaring he needs to use the bathroom.

It’s becoming the story of Louis’ life, staring at the place Harry had previously been in and chewing on unspoken apologies.

“I don’t get how y’all are like that.”

Liam’s low voice takes him aback. Louis turns to him in confusion. “Sorry?”

Liam heavily drops down next to Louis and lets out a sigh. “You and Harry. I don’t understand how you guys can be so in tune with each other and still be like,” he makes vague hand gestures, “that.”

 _In tune with each other_ is the last thing Louis would describe them as.

“The hell you’re talking about, QB?”

“It’s like,” Liam shrugs, seemingly self-conscious for speaking out his mind. “D’you remember that day we practiced the off-tackle run?” Louis nods. He remembers. They spent at least two of their morning practices working on that play. Liam had to nail the pass to Louis, so that he could successfully avoid Harry’s tackle. “You didn’t even look at Harry once. You had your eyes on me the whole time, but, somehow, you knew exactly where he was coming from _every time_. You just knew where he was.” Liam looks amazed by the memory of it.

“But, at the same time, y’all barely talk. It’s like y’all don’t need to look at each other, but you also don’t want to.”

Louis doesn’t know how to respond, so he just blurts out, “it’s weird that you’re so aware of what’s going on between Harry and I.”

Liam blushes, but stands his ground. “It’s not my fault that I was forced to endure all the tension from the front row. I just don’t understand.”

Liam hadn’t been on the team last year — it’s part of the reason why it’s taken some time for him to come around. He hadn’t been there to see Harry and Louis find each other, quickly becoming joined at the hip. He had never had to deal with Coach interrupting practices because Harry and Louis couldn’t stop laughing about some private joke. He never witnessed the fond expression that used to take over Harry’s face whenever Louis did something particularly mischievous. The only version of them Liam has ever known is the broken one. Therefore, Louis can’t fault him for not understanding.

Louis doesn’t know why — why now, why Liam, why speak the truth — but it takes him half a minute to make up his mind.

“We used to be together, Harry and I.” He wishes he still had some beer left for this. “That’s why,” he clears his throat. “That’s why we’re like that.”

After he says it, he remembers they’re not actually alone and Niall and Josh might have heard him. He’s so tired, though. Similar to many of his old priorities, he can’t pinpoint when exactly keeping their relationship a secret has stopped being as imperative as it was. In truth, he wants to say that yes. Yes, they were so fucking good together that, even after months apart, they can still spot each other in a room with their eyes closed.

“Oh,” Liam gasps. “Oh, that explains _everything_.”

Despite himself, Louis chuckles. “Yeah, I guess it does, doesn’t it?”

“I feel so stupid now,” Liam shakes his head, self-conscious. Something seems to strike him, because, suddenly, his eyebrows almost touch his hairline. “All the morning practices, holy _shit_.”

He looks at the brink of an apology --  unnecessary, because what does he even have to apologize _for_ \-- when their conversation is interrupted by Harry returning. It’s almost funny, the alarmed expression that takes over Liam’s face, like he’s checking to see if Louis is okay, if he can handle being within five feet from Harry.

Harry doesn’t sit back down and Louis thinks he recognizes the signs of a planned scape in his hesitating stance. The team-bonding part of the night is over and it’s clear that there’s not much else for them to do at this point, much less if you’re on non-speaking terms with one of the four people left in the room.

Louis is deeply grateful when Niall shows up holding an old beaten football. “Hey, kiddos! How d’y’all feel about playing some _real_ football?”

⬬

It’s half past twelve when they decide they’ve finally had enough of every kind of football, all of their jeans mud-stained at the bottom.

Josh had gone home sometime after eleven and that had left them playing in pairings. To Louis’ absolute _astonishment_ , Harry hadn’t batted an eye when Niall declared it’d be him and Liam against Harry and Louis.

All in all, Louis sees this entire night for what it was. A compromise.

Before they leave, Niall pulls him into a tight hug. The soft smile on his face says everything his mouth doesn’t.

The three of them — Louis, Harry and Liam — walk together to the corner of the street and, when they reach Louis’ 1997 Dodge, he realizes there’s only one more available car parked — Harry’s truck. “Hey, Payno. Want a lift? It’s kinda late to walk by yourself.”

Liam looks uncertain. Louis doesn’t miss the way he studies the distance between Louis and Harry before saying, “nah, bro. I’m good. My house is not far.”

He wants to shake his head in disapproval, but, in his half-drunk state, Liam’s matchmaking efforts are actually endearing. He waves back when the boy offers them an awkward goodnight and doesn’t have to wait long before Harry opens his mouth.

“I take it you’ve told him?”

He doesn’t sound annoyed, not even troubled, just mildly curious.

They’re parked on different sides of the street, Harry standing next to his pick-up truck while Louis fumbles around his pocket, looking for his keys. Niall’s neighborhood is quiet enough that Louis doesn’t have to raise his voice to answer. “He asked me why we didn’t speak to each other.”

And, okay, that’s only half true.

Harry frowns slightly, thinking it over.

You see, alcohol is a dangerous thing. Louis’ limbs feel heavy, his mind hazy, and Harry seems more reachable than he has in months. They had played together tonight. They are actually having a _conversation_ right now. Only five or six steps separate them from touching again and, in his inebriated state, Louis can’t remember why he shouldn’t close the distance. More than ever before, he misses the warm comfort in his chest that came from holding Harry in his arms.

From across the street, Harry is staring at him over the hood of his truck. His hair looks chaotic, face set in a stormy expression, made even more somber by the gloomy lamppost light. It’s still hot outside, so he’s got his shearling jacket draped over his left shoulder.

Louis has to physically bite his tongue, otherwise he might just ask Harry to lend him the stupid jacket — the worn-thin Packers t-shirt they used to share doesn’t smell like Harry anymore and he needs a replacement.

“Liam may be able to explain to me why you cut me off, then.”

It takes a moment for it to sink in, because, despite the sharp words, Harry’s tone is low, neutral. When the meaning behind what was said finally registers, Louis feels the lukewarm sensation in his gut ceasing immediately.

This is it, then. Harry has had enough of beating around the bush.

It seems like a decade has passed before he finally settles on something to say. He starts with what he’s absolutely sure. “I never meant to hurt you.” His voice shakes on every word and he doesn’t know how to make it better. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Harry’s eyes pierce through him, unmoving. “I don’t even know what that means, Louis.”

Louis takes an unsteady breath, breaking off eye contact. How can he explain that he thought he was doing them both a favor by ending it? How does he make Harry understand that, a year ago, it seemed clear to Louis that their timing was not right, and he felt like the decision was in his hands? Most of all, how does he get Harry to forgive him for taking away the chance they deserved?

“I fucked up.” Louis bites his bottom lip for what feels like the thousandth time tonight, to stop it from quivering. “I fucked it up so bad, Harry.” He uses one of his hands to support himself against his car. “I should have talked to you.” The words hurt his throat. He _hates_ this conversation.

“Did I do something wrong?” Harry’s voice breaks all the way across the street. “All summer long I tried to come up with reasons why you wouldn’t pick up my calls, but I couldn’t…” He trails off. Louis watches in misery while he swallows down and closes his eyes. “I just want to know why.”

The thought of Harry beating himself up, trying to understand the ways in which _he_ could have messed up, while Louis selfishly focused on football practices and scholarship proposals is enough to make Louis tear up.

Objectively speaking, he knew Harry wasn’t happy about their breakup, but he’d never allowed himself to consider the extent to which his actions impacted on Harry’s feelings. It doesn’t matter what’s happened, all the shit they’ve been through this year, the never ending silence and the bitter resentment, Harry is still one of his favorite people and it’s almost unbearable to face the evidence of having ever hurt him.

“No, Haz. No, I.” Harry’s eyes finally meet his again and Louis forces himself to keep going. “You deserved someone better. I should’ve believed in us.” He knows nothing he can say will right his wrongs, but in this moment it’s crucial that Harry understands it was never his fault. “I tried to picture what it would be like, you know. Us, a few years from now. But it terrified me, because we want completely different things and I couldn’t—”

“What?” Harry recoils in bewilderment.

Louis tries to be cautious with his words, despite his inebriety. “I can’t stay in this town, Harry. I don’t want to. And everytime we talked about it, you said you wanted to work with Coach, or work for Corden or—”

“I wanted _you_ , Louis!” Harry’s voice is loud enough to echo across the quiet neighborhood. “I would have followed you anywhere, you just had to ask!”

It’s hard to stand his ground against the heated, clear green of Harry’s eyes, but this might be his only chance to fix this, so Louis braces himself and tries again. “I am so sorry, Harry. I’m more sorry than I can say, but I didn’t want you to just blindly follow me everywhere. I wanted you to _want_ a future for yourself. For you to aim for something higher than an assistant coaching position.”

Something is going very wrong with this conversation, because Harry looks more offended with every word that leaves Louis’ mouth. “That’s not me.” He shakes his head, exasperated. “No one in my family has ever gone to college. You know I’m not build for it.”

“I know!” Louis wants to hide his face inside his shirt, wants to scream out his frustration at not knowing how to say what’s in his heart. “I know all of this, ok? That’s why I couldn’t make myself talk to you about it. I didn’t know how to! I still don’t!”

He notices that he’s taken the few steps that separated them and is now standing on the passenger side of Harry’s truck. They really shouldn’t be having this conversation in the middle of the street, drunk off their asses.

“You could still have…” Harry starts. “You should still have talked to me. I would’ve never pushed you away, Louis, no matter what you said. I would have held on for dear life.”

Louis hitches in a breath. That _hurts_. Harry looks so breakable, voice hoarse and lips chapped, his chest expanding rapidly against his shirt. Louis feels his eyes burning again, a sharp prickling sensation behind his eyelids. His voice is thick with tears when he says, “I tried so hard to do the right thing and I let us both down.”

There’s a delicate moment in which they just look at each other and Louis knows they are thinking the same thing. How good it was and how good it could’ve been. He knows Harry is thinking of soft whispers and caring touches. They’re both remembering the late night confidences, the warmth of their companionship. Louis’ throat closes tight with longing.

That feeling is replaced with cold panic when Harry moves to open the door of his truck.

No, no, no, no, _no_.

“Harry. No. Haz, wait up,” he rushes to the other side of the vehicule, arriving just in time to stop the driver’s door from slamming shut. “Don’t go like that, please.” Harry rests his forehead against the steering wheel, shoulders hunched. “There hasn’t been a day I’ve not thought this over. There hasn’t been a day that I haven’t missed you since I let you go. Please, Harry.”

Louis watches as Harry squeezes his eyes shut. “You broke my heart, Louis.”

“It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made. I should have talked to you, I should have,” the words catch in his throat. He _needs_ them to have another chance in the end. “I should have trusted you. I’ll spend every day trying to make up for this. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

Harry sighs heavily, opening his eyes and moving to lean back against the headrest. “I want to be alone.” He looks back at Louis. “Please, I need to think. My head is a mess and my hands feel numb. I need to be alone right now.”

It sounds a lot like defeat and Louis feels like trash. “I know I’m asking for too much,” Louis braces himself for the rejection, backing away from the door. “And I know I don’t deserve it.” His voice breaks.

He gets his answer after what feels like the longest minute of his life. “It’s not like I ever have a choice, when it comes to you.”

With that, Harry finally shuts the driver’s door. Louis watches powerless as the truck drives down the street, turning left when it reaches the stop sign.

At least they ended this night with something in common.

 _I never had a choice it came to you, either_.

⬬

It’s Tuesday morning. Louis and Liam wait till half past seven, but Harry never shows up for practice.

⬬

The next few days are weird. Before, he was used to daily doses of crushing discomfort and soul-burning guilt when he entered the football field. Now, whenever Louis and Harry are in the same place at the same time, the feeling that takes over his mind and body is anticipation.

For better or worse, he’s done it. He’s not hiding behind the pretense of having made the right decision anymore. Louis screwed up, Harry knows Louis screwed up and now all there’s left to do is wait for Harry’s decision.

Practices seem to run for longer periods of time. Every second without a verdict seems to drag on and Louis tries not to let his hope die a little bit more every time Harry leaves the locker room as soon as he takes off his dirty gear, no time spent in the showers these days.

Liam and Niall keep sending him puzzled looks, like they’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. Louis doesn’t have the heart, nor the energy, to clarify their current state of limbo to their friends, so he just overlooks Liam’s frowned eyebrows and ignores Niall’s inquiring texts, grabbing his duffel bag and leaving as soon as he’s sure another day will go by without an answer.

By the time he wakes up on Friday morning to no new texts or missed calls, he’s at least half sure Harry will leave him hanging forever. No answer, no explanation. Nothing but fair, if you think about it.

Needless to say, he’s not in a particularly good mood. He throws on the first hoodie he finds buried in the unfolded pile of clean laundry, pulling up the hood so he doesn’t have to deal with his hair. In the kitchen, he harshly pushes stuff aside in the refrigerator, searching for milk.

“What’s crawled up your ass and how do we get it out in time for the game?” Is how Lottie greets him.

“Where’s the stupid milk? I can’t be late today.”

“We ran out of it last night,” she answers, filling a glass of water from the tap. “Seriously, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he doesn’t meet her worried stare. “I’ll just skip breakfast. I’m not even hungry anyway.”

“If mom were home, she’d tell you you shouldn’t face a game day on an empty stomach.”

He takes a deep breath, swallowing down the bitter answer at the tip of his tongue. “I’ll just grab something on the way.”

He’s halfway out the door when he hears her hurried, “Good luck!”

⬬

“Dude. Dude! Tommo!” Niall is trying really hard to draw Louis’ attention. Louis tries really hard to pretend that whatever their English professor is writing on the blackboard is interesting. “Check out what the Trojans’ QB posted on instagram.” He shoves his phone in Louis’ lap. “You’d think they’d be practicing for the semifinals, not saying shit on the internet. It’s like they want to get run over again this year.”

Louis makes an effort and looks down at the phone screen. He’s met with a pic of half a dozen football players, dressed in the Trojans’ red uniform and holding what looks like fake dead birds. _Dead Falcons. Ha ha_. He doesn’t care enough to read the caption.

He gives back the phone with a shrug. “They’ll eat back their words after tonight.”

Niall frowns. “Are you sedated? How are you not marching around this classroom in rage?”

Louis sighs, impatient. "What’s the point? Losing my shit would only get me expelled from class. That would be a shitshow itself, especially today.”

Niall stays atypically silent at that. When Louis turns to him, Niall is sizing him up with clinical eyes. “Maybe we should talk, later.”

“It’s not that serious, Niall. Let it go.”

He gets a hum in response.

Once class is over — Mrs. Coleman could have talked about dinosaurs the entire morning, as far as Louis knows — Niall makes good on his word.

He pulls lightly on Louis’ hand, stopping him from walking into the crowd overtaking the hallway. “Louis, can we talk?”

“We gotta stop meeting like this, WR.”

Niall gives him a small smile. “Apparently, it’s the only place where I can get you to take me seriously.”

“You worry too much.”

“You can talk to me, you know? I keep offering but you never take the bait.”

Niall is not the one Louis wants to talk to right now. "I don't want to talk about it. I tried. It wasn't enough. Time to move on now."

“Is this about Harry?” Niall’s words come out in an uncertain whisper. Louis almost doesn’t catch them among the loud conversations happening around them.

“Isn’t it always about him, Ni?” Louis is exhausted.

Niall’s blue eyes fill with pity and that’s as far as Louis is willing to go with this discussion.

“I’ll get over it, don’t worry. You should focus on the Trojans. That’s what I’ll try to do, anyway. You’re right in thinking that we shouldn’t—”

He doesn’t get to finish, because Niall pulls him in a vice tight hug, arms locked around Louis’ shoulders. “You put up a brave face, but I’m here, okay?”

Louis buries his nose in Niall’s sweatshirt. He smells nice. “Okay.”

He doesn’t know how long Niall holds him for, but the crowd is sufficiently thinner when he pulls away. “We should really focus on the Trojans, though. Semifinals and all that.”

Niall laughs and pulls him in again to press a kiss on his forehead. “Alright, captain.”

⬬

The semifinal against the Amarillo Trojans is _hellish_.

From the first kickoff, the Falcons have had to face nasty harassments and even nastier plays. The referee is either blind or has been bribed, because there’s no way the shoves they’ve been having to deal with aren’t considered penalties. Louis is pretty sure he’s getting a handful of bruises as souvenirs from this game.

After he receives an exceptionally brutal tackle from the Trojans’ linebacker, Louis is on his way to the referee to give the man a piece of his mind. Coach pulls him aside before he gets there. “I see what’s going on, okay? You keep your head straight. You play your own game, son.”

“Yes, sir.” Louis answers, but his blood boils with unreleased indignation.

“Listen to me. Look at me.” Coach grabs him by the shoulders. “Don’t let it get to your head. You go in there and do your thing, play your own game.”

He takes a deep breath and glares vengefully at the player that knock him down. It’s hard to play _any kind_ of game with the way he’s being hit. “Yes, sir.”

“You go back in there. Go, go, go.”

Things don’t get better throughout the second and third quarters of the game. If anything, it all keeps getting _worse_. They’re hardly able to gain any yards, and when they're able to gain some ground, they're viciously stopped short of the endzone by the Trojans defense.

Louis can feel the tension increasing, like a pressure cooker ready to explode. Josh and Niall speak heatedly while the chains are moved in between downs and Coach has now pulled Harry aside for a lecture. Louis takes the moment to assess the condition of his team.

Everyone is obviously stressed out, their jerseys dirtier than usual and their cheeks red with exertion and irritation. Louis knows this is the moment he’s supposed to step up, the moment a team needs its captain the most, because someone’s gotta have a clear head to dig them out of this situation.

He thinks back on all of his time under Stan’s captaincy and tries to remember a day when Stan had overcome something similar. There’s not a play that stands out nor a phrase he’d said. What Louis remembers best is Stan fighting fiercely for every ball, picking up and encouraging drained teammates along the way.

This is not the time to bow their heads and comply with the imposed shitty circumstances. This is Louis’ only chance to win State as the captain of the Falcons. This is their time and he’ll be damned if he’ll let a bunch of high school bullies take it away from them.

With renewed resolve, Louis walks past Liam, abruptly grabbing him by the forearm and leading them till they’re face to face with Coach. Maybe it should be harder to ignore Harry’s glaring presence by his side, but Louis’ focus is somewhere else right now.

“I think we should go for the off-tackle run.” Louis’ tone leaves little open to discussion.

They don’t have much time, so Coach’s only words are directed at Liam. “Can you get the ball in Tomlinson’s hand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then do it. Go!”

The three of them walk back into the field. Liam gets in position and Louis glances at Harry while they get in place.

“Are you ready for this, Styles?” At this moment, he’s not Louis, the boy who is in love with Harry. He’s Louis, the captain of the Falcons, who needs his fullback to have his head in the game.

“Yeah. Let’s do this.” When Harry hunches down, waiting for Liam to start the play, his eyes are vivid green and his mouth is closed tight around the oral shield.

“Black! Ten! Hut!”

It takes less than ten seconds. Liam throws the perfect pass and the ball lands in Louis’ hands _beautifully._  He runs as fast as his legs can carry him, his only goal being to reach the end zone before anyone dressed in red takes him down. He breaks the first tackle and, somewhere between the twenty yard line and the dark red of the end zone, he hears Harry taking down another two Trojans players.

He feels like he’s flying when he crosses the last line.

“Touchdown, Falcons!”

He doesn’t get to celebrate before he’s being knocked off his feet, head first into the grass.

He’s disoriented when he opens his eyes. It’s pretty obvious that someone has pushed him down, even though the play was done with. His left shoulder aches and his vision is blurred when he takes off his helmet and slowly stands up. Before he’s even steady on his feet again, someone is screaming in his face.

“Next time, you won’t get up! D’ya hear me, you little shit?!” It’s the Trojans linebacker. “Next time I’ll break you in half!”

Louis bites his tongue. _Just keep walking_.

He can see his teammates approaching, outraged at the obvious penalty. It’s a mess of blue and red, all players screaming angrily and pushing at each other. When the linebacker guy comes close to his face again, Louis finally has had enough.

“You ain’t shit, Tomlinson. You think you’re some kind of hot shot but I’ll take you down every fucking time!”

“What the hell is your problem, fucker?!” Louis’ veins vibrate with adrenaline as he shoves hard at the guy’s chest. “You don’t like losing? How does my ass taste?!”

The guy’s eyes narrow in anger and Louis senses things are about to get even uglier. He waits for the next blow. Waits for the guy to knock him down again or yell a new string of obscenities, but none of that happens, because, next thing Louis knows, someone punches the linebacker in the face.

Harry.

Harry punches the linebacker in the face.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit, i finished it. i have no words to express how happy i am. it's been a long time, friends, haha. i hope this last chapter lives up to the expectations of the few of you keeping up with this story!
> 
> thanks to roxy, for helping me build this story from the crumbs of FNL headcanons in our texts. thanks to amber, for being my soulmate & for not giving up on me, not even when i wouldn't stop talking about this fic for _years_. and thanks to you, for reading and for caring about these characters. 
> 
> warnings: a sex scene written under copious amounts of stress and so many references to FNL scenes that you might want to punch me.
> 
> please let me know if you find any inaccuracies.  
> enjoy!

The locker room is quiet enough that Louis can hear his teammates breathing. His own breath is uneven, loud. It’s hard to inhale, air feeling thick and his chest heavy. His only goal at the moment is to avoid any and all eye contact. They are _so_ fucked, and he knows that, somehow, it’s his fault.

He focuses on a dirty piece of adhesive tape stuck on the floor.

 _Clear your head. Don’t think about it. Don’t think_.

Coach’s furious voice is audible through the door, unintelligible. He’s not sure what exactly is being discussed, but, just before they were ushered inside, Louis caught a glimpse of the Trojans’ coach barging in and demanding “ _the win that’s rightfully theirs_ ”.

Louis is pretty sure that piece of tape has been there for as long as he’s been a part of the team. He wonders how many years it’s been, which player was taping their fingers and let a piece of the tape fall to the floor. He wonders if the captain of the team at the time ever had to deal with their fullback punching a rival player in the face in the middle of a semifinal game.

_Do. Not. Think about it._

Niall is sat next to him on the bench, knee bouncing up and down impatiently. Louis wants to force his knee still and tell him to calm the fuck down, but that would imply that Louis is aware and willing to discuss anything that’s happened in the last hour. He is not.

There’s a metal sound — so loud in the silent room that half a dozen players jump in their seats — and the large blue door opens to reveal a livid Coach. Louis holds his breath and does his very best not to look anywhere near Harry’s locker.

Coach paces from one side of the room to the other, both hands on his waist. Louis doesn’t dare look away from the dirty tape.

“That.” Coach cuts off, licking his lips then pressing them together, like that’s all he can do not to hit something. “That is _not_ the football we play, gentlemen.” He’s talking through his teeth. “You’ve embarrassed yourselves. You’ve embarrassed your families. You’ve embarrassed the people that work really damn hard for y’all to be able to play every damn Friday. You’ve embarrassed _me_.”

When two Trojans players finally managed to pull Harry away from their linebacker, both teams had already gathered in the endzone, the few guys that had not yet rushed to Louis’ aid after the penalty definitely running after the first punch was thrown. What was once a fight became a full out battle between the Falcons and the Trojans, coaches and assistant coaches failing to stop the violence from escalating.

Louis’ cheek tingles from where he was hit with an elbow, and he’s at least half sure that he kicked someone in the back in his haste to push a burky guy away from Liam. He knows he should be more worried about his team’s discipline and the absolute _shit_ example they’ve provided tonight. He should be concerned about how irrevocably pissed Coach is. Unfortunately, he can’t think about any of that right now. His mind is a never ending loop of _we lost State we lost State we lost State_.  

“I don’t teach that kind of crap, so I’d like you all to explain to me _what the hell were you thinking_?!” Coach’s voice is nothing but a shout by the time he’s finished.

No one speaks for a long time, the tension building with every second that passes without an answer.

Finally, Liam speaks up. “Does that mean we lost?”

Louis can’t decide if his quarterback is either really brave or really fucking stupid, but he’s glad someone asked.

Coach seethes. “Ya’ll be happy to know that we were five points ahead when the referee called the game, Payne, so you’re through to the final. But I’mma tell you right now that that kind behavior doesn’t get you any damn titles!”

Louis doesn’t even have time to take in a relieved breath, because Harry’s voice resonates perfectly clear around the locker room, adding fuel to the fire.  

“Were we just supposed to let ‘em hit us, then?”

“Don’t start with me right now, Styles. I know who initiated that circus out there.”

“Do you, really?” Louis is forced to look up, to check if Harry’s face matches the vehement tone of his voice. “They were bashing one of ours around like a fucking punching bag and we were just _taking it_.”

It’s like no one dares to even blink while Coach and Harry glare are at each other. Harry’s bottom lip is cut and bleeding slightly, but that doesn’t seem to bother him as he purses his mouth in outrage.

Eventually, Coach breaks their stare-off. “Styles, I think you need to go cool down in my office. Right now.”

Louis watches Harry’s ankles and stained cleats as the boy stands up and crosses the room with heavy steps, leaving without so much as a glance towards Coach.

“I will not tolerate that kind of attitude in my locker room, I don’t care how wronged you feel.” Coach declares as soon as Harry’s through the door. “I’m aware of what was happening in that game. Don’t think I didn’t notice the insults and the unnecessary brutality. But you can be sure that hitting back is not the answer and that y’all will be held accountable for your actions.” It’s not like they expected anything less. “I want y’all to think long and hard about what kind of players, what kind of men do you want to be for this town. I’ll meet you gentlemen back here on Monday, and then we’ll take care of this team’s lack of discipline.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Y’all have a good night.”

With that, Coach leaves them to deal with the sorrowful feeling that’s taken over the room. Or maybe it’s taken over only Louis’ chest, he doesn’t know. He thinks he might throw up soon.

Slowly, all the boys start to move around, some of them timidly happy about the classification. The older players — the ones that have won the championship last year and aren’t going through the exhilarating feeling of facing a State final for the first time — all have somber expressions on their faces. Everything is _wrong_.

Louis tries to find the kid that lives within himself and that loves football more than anything. With much effort, he opens his heart to the electrifying delight of being so close to achieving a dream, yet again. His boys deserve to revel in this win. They all worked too fucking hard for this and he will not let them waste this unique moment, not if he can help it.

“Guys. Guys, hold up.” He physically holds back two players from leaving for the night, despondent eyes watching him carefully. “Coach might kill me if he hears what I’m about to say, but I think you should all be proud of yourselves.” He can do this. “It’s his job to call us on our bullshit. I’d actually be more worried if he _didn’t_ look ready to murder someone with his bare hands. But it’s _my_ job to tell you that you’ve earned this.” Louis’ got everyone’s attention now, so he keeps going. “Of course it didn’t happen like we wanted it to, and we’re gonna get our asses handed back to us on Monday,” a few laughs at that, “but we did it. We worked together and we got through those assholes. We won.” When he still doesn’t get the reaction he was aiming for, he drives the point home. “We’re in the final, boys!”

That gets him a couple tentative smiles. _Not good enough_.

Lucky for Louis, he’s friends with the best cheerleader in town. “Oh, c’mon, you babies.” Niall intervenes. “Coach lets out a couple barks in your faces and y’all coward into the corner? This is State, we’re talking about!” That seems do get their teammates’ blood pumping. “I wanna hear some cheers!”

Louis hopes Coach can’t hear their hoots of celebration from his office.

⬬

It’s actually a really nice night outside, clear sky with hardly any wind. It’s been almost two hours since the game was interrupted, so that means everyone has already left and the field is completely empty by the time Louis sits on the grass and takes off his cleats. The only evidence of something having ever happened here tonight being the forgotten signs in the stands and a bunch of red cups and food wrappers carelessly thrown on the ground.

Niall was the last one of his teammates to leave, because of course he was. He’d tried to stall, even offered to wait with Louis, but it’d be of no use tonight and Louis had told him so. After a quick hug and a wary “ _take care, Tommo_ ”, Niall finally got inside his Honda Civic and left him alone, to have the minor breakdown that had been building since the moment Louis realized Harry had punched someone in the face. _Because of him_.

He doesn’t know exactly how long it’s been since Coach had joined Harry in his office, but he knows enough about the talks that happen inside that room to be anxious. He wants it to be done already. He wants Harry in front of him, pinned to the ground with no way to run, so that Louis can ask him what all of this means and where do they go from here.

The grass feels nice against the soles of his feet, the earthy smell familiar and soothing. Still, he can’t help but feel like he’s failing at the whole “leave your apprehensions on the ground” strategy when the restlessness doesn’t leave his bones after a few minutes. It only confirms that Louis’ rescuer was never the grass, the field or the ground; it was Harry instead. There’s no point in attempting to placate his heart when the person it wants the most is not within reach.

He closes his eyes and rests his forehead on his raised knees. This week might have been the longest of his entire life. Between the pressure behind tonight’s game and the never ending heartache attached to his situation with Harry, he feels breakable. He’s not sure this is the best time for him to corner Harry looking for answers (yes, he does realize how hypocrite he sounds), but it is never the right time for them. They’ve been passing each other by for so long that Louis can barely remember what’s like to not miss a part of his soul.

Among his running thoughts, he hears the sound of steps approaching. That makes him open his eyes immediately. There’s really no one else he’s expecting to see when he looks up.

Harry is slowly walking towards him, cleats hanging from the fingers of his right hand as runs the left one through his hair. He looks exhausted beyond belief. Louis almost wants to propose they drop everything to take a nap.

_Soon, hopefully._

“I was waiting for you.” The words are out of his mouth before Harry even drops to sit next to him.

Harry shrugs. “I figured.”

They’re close to each other and Louis can see all the bruises and cuts on Harry’s face, hands and arms. _What a fucking night_.

“Are you off the team?”

“Surprisingly, no.” Harry scratches his chin. “But I will have to do rookie duty until I leave high school. At least.”

Louis takes what feels like his first deep breath in hours. The heavy weight that had been resting on his chest finally seems to let off a bit. “That was fucking stupid. And reckless.” He bites his tongue to stop his mouth from going off. Now that everything’s been said and done, he wants to scream at Harry for playing with fire. _Twice_.

“Yeah, I heard all about it. Loudly and at length.” With a clearer mind, Louis notices the redness in Harry’s eyes. Just like that, the fire in his veins dies down.

“‘M sorry.” He looks down and starts to rip little pieces of grass, looking for something to do with his hands. “I don’t have the right to tell you how to act.”

Harry chuckles. “You have, actually. You’re the captain and all that.”

Louis sighs. “It’s hard to remember my place when it comes to you.”

“That makes two of us.” Louis stops his actions abruptly. So they haven’t moved on from that, then.

He cautiously looks up, expecting the worst, but he’s met with a small smile. And that. _Oh_. That makes his heart lurch violently, desperately trying to leave his body to find its home in Harry’s soft hands again.

It’s really hard to keep himself in check. He wants to touch. Wants to bury his face in the space between Harry’s collarbones and feel the warm skin against his cheek. “Harry, what does this mean for us?”

Louis waits for a few moments, but Harry doesn’t seem too inclined to answer the question. He’s apparently too busy frowning at nothing in particular.

“Can you please look at me?” Slowly, burning green eyes turn to face him again. “Where do you wanna go from here?”

“I don’t feel like it’s my choice,” Harry mumbles.

“I don’t understand.”

Louis surprises himself by recognizing the bits and pieces of Harry’s soul, even after all this time. For example, when Harry swallows and takes longer than it’s socially acceptable to answer, Louis understands that’s just because he’s too careful with sharing his words and, sometimes, it’s difficult to express what’s perfectly clear in his head. Louis, on the other hand, seizes the opportunity to study the lovely way Harry’s face works when he’s thinking too hard.  

“Nothing’s changed for me,” is how he decides to start. His tone is so soft that Louis has to move closer to hear what he’s saying. “I got hurt, and then I got angry. By the time I first saw you this year, I just felt all wrong. And it’s still kind of a mess in here, to be honest,” he gestures vaguely with his hands. “But I never once stopped wanting this with you.”

That sounds a lot like a decision made, if you ask Louis. He feels dizzy with hope. “I’m just waiting for the final green light to attach myself to your side, love. As soon as you give me it, I’m done for.”

He dares to say Harry looks somewhat endeared by that, but his eyes are still too distant for Louis’ liking. “And what about after?” Harry challenges him, steadfast. “I wish I could say I’ve figured all my shit out since we last spoke, but I haven’t. Not even close.”

It’s almost refreshing how much Louis _doesn’t care_.

“Can I be completely honest?” He gets a nod in response. “I haven’t thought about it.”

Harry is confused. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”

“I don’t want to be without you. That’s the only thing, the _only_ thing that’s been on my mind for months.” Harry’s incredulous head shake is enough to let Louis know he’s losing him, so he powers on. “Hey, c’mon. Listen to me, please. I know you haven’t figured it out yet, okay? I know your mind works different than mine and you don’t have your life planned like I do, and that’s fine!” He turns his whole body towards Harry, staring intently into his eyes and trying to convey what’s in his heart, so that there’s no doubt left about what he’s saying. ”It’s fine because, if you want to stay here after school ends, I’ll drive down every weekend. I’ll call every morning, because I’m sure I’ll wake up thinking about you anyway. If you decide to drop everything and live somewhere else with me, I’ll be by your side until you find something that moves you, and then we’ll go from there.” It’s all-consuming, how much he wants this. Any of these. “I can work with any scenario, Harry. I just need you with me.”

“I want to believe that so badly,” Harry’s voice sounds choked. “But what happens when you’re the star of some big league team and I’m still out here selling Corden’s beat-up old cars? Or when you come home to find me still unemployed and drinking my weight in Coronas?”

Louis wants to drown himself in hot lava for making Harry sound so insecure. “I’m so stupid. I’m a giant fucking idiot, Harry. You’re so much more than that.” _Stupid, stupid, stupid idiot._ ”You’re kind and forgiving, and caring. You always get my dry humor and it’s like your arms were made to hold me, because we fit so right, don’t we?” Louis’ vision blurs as tears well up in his eyes. “No one can make me feel as safe as you do. You’re my best friend, love, and, if I’m lucky enough to live my dreams, you’re the one I want by my side. I don’t mind the Coronas.”

Time feels suspended as Louis’ words sink in.

“I— There’s so much I want to say, but I—” Harry is visibly overwhelmed, urgency coloring his words. He seems to center himself just enough to say, “I love you. Can I just get this out of the way? I love you, Louis. I’ve loved you long before I understood what we were. I don’t want there to be any doubt about where I stand in this.”

And that. That’s just. Well. If Louis wanted him closer before, now it’s _vital_ that he presses Harry as close to his chest as possible. The words are barely spoken before Louis pushes himself to his knees and locks his arms around Harry’s neck. He buries his nose in the skin under Harry’s ear, reacquainting himself with the earthy smell of football, sweat and boy. _Harry_.

It takes him a few moments, but, as he works his way leaving small kisses all the way down from Harry’s ear to his jaw, Louis notices the tense muscles underneath his hands. He presses one last tender kiss on Harry’s chin — deliriously happy to be granted this gift again — and pulls back, placing bruised hands on stiff shoulders.

He thinks he understands now, the overpowering urge to say everything that he’s feeling, all at once. Random thoughts float aimlessly through his mind, things like “ _I slept in the same t-shirt for months because it smelled like you_ ” and “ _There’s a small piece of you in a bottle top inside of my locker_ ”. In the end, what comes out of his mouth is, “I’ve saved the softest parts of me for you.” Harry’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly and Louis maybe wouldn’t notice, if it weren’t for the way the boy eases under his touch. He’s not done yet, though. “It took me a while to understand why my skin felt like it didn’t fit my bones right, but now I know that I’ve always been in some kind of love with you—“

It actually hurts a bit, the way Harry lunges forward to smash their lips together. Louis is torn between abandoning every coherent thought and the need to bare his soul for Harry to see, once and for all. He does his best to reconcile both his head’s and his heart’s wishes. “I’ll be better to you,” he mutters against the corner of Harry’s mouth. “I even started listening to that miserable band that you like,” he manages to get out as Harry uses both his hands to tilt Louis’ head backwards slightly, smart tongue tracing the outside of his lips.

“Shut up, shut _up_. I missed you so much. Just kiss me.”

“The small things remind me of you the most. I can’t even look at denim jackets anymore.”

“Louis—” Harry’s mouth is relentless against his, gentle nibbles making it difficult for him to keep speaking.

“I want to wake up wrapped around you—”

“Baby.”

Blazing sparks of electricity zip along Louis’ spine, making him stop. His body’s reaction to that one single word is so violent that he suddenly feels like a puppet with no strings. He knows his mouth is hanging half open, ridiculous, but his insides have turned into pure, endless _warmth_.  

Harry takes the opportunity when he sees it, his mouth curved in a satisfied smile as he moves to press their lips together once again. Now, Louis is not a big fan of novels, but the idea of a kiss feeling so monumental that it’s like a first deep breath after years underwater doesn’t seem that far-fetched anymore. His body feels too small to contain the all-consuming bliss of having Harry in his arms again. He knows he might be pulling on Harry’s hair just a bit too tight, but if the moan let out into his mouth is any indication, the boy doesn’t mind.

Their kiss tastes like tenderness and longing. It’s different from all their other kisses, because it’s most likely the first time they’re both on the same page, no hidden meaning behind hesitant touches, no words left unsaid. Louis is not obsessing over their ideal future and Harry is not playing his cards close to his chest. This is different and it’s _better_.

Louis doesn’t think twice before moving his hands down to Harry’s waist, working his way around to his back to pull him closer. Harry’s lips work slowly over his, thumbs delicately tracing his cheekbones as his tongue licks into every corner of Louis’ mouth. Still cradling his face, Harry pulls back just enough to give them a chance to breathe.

Louis dares to open his eyes and is met with ceaseless pools of soft green studying him back. He allows his gaze to run hungrily over every detail of Harry’s face, taking in all the small changes. The darker shade of skin under Harry’s eyes saddens him, so he leans forward and presses tender kisses around his eyes, on Harry’s temple, his nose, his dimple. He imagines it should be embarrassing, how they’re craving each other’s soft touches, but, quite frankly, he couldn’t care less.

His little pecks have Harry giggling quietly, bashful, and that doesn’t help any with Louis’ yearning to kiss him all over. His heart is pounding against his ribcage and he swears that every strong beat is a renewed declaration of love.

Harry seems to have had enough of the distance between them, because one second they’re sitting almost in each other’s laps, breathing hard, and the next one Louis’ back hits the grass, Harry having moved to kiss him passionately again. Sometime in the middle of their switch from vertical to horizontal, Harry fits himself between Louis’ spread thighs and that’s as much invitation he needs to run greedy hands underneath Harry’s jersey.

“Baby, baby, baby,” Harry whispers reverently, like a prayer.

Louis lets the word wash over him, his skin buzzing with happiness. Kisses to his mouth become kisses and nips to his neck and collarbones. When Harry’s hair starts to obscure Louis’ view of his beautiful face, he removes one hand from the warm skin of Harry’s hips and gently pushes back a few curls.

The humid grass of the field is turning his t-shirt damp and Louis wishes they had a bed for this.

The thought makes him stop. Is he getting ahead of himself? How delicate is this new thing between them? _Is it_ really new or are they back at the point where they stopped months ago?

“I can feel you overthinking,” Harry speaks against the skin of Louis’ neck. “Stop.”

 _Might as well just bite the bullet_.

“Haz.” One of his hands move to Harry’s chin, tilting his head so Louis can see his eyes.

“No,” Harry whines. “I like kissing. Let’s keep kissing.”

His pout is really, really cute, but Louis still holds him back when he tries to go in for his mouth again. “Haz, listen.” He is definitely not listening. “This is serious. I have a serious question to ask.”

“There’s been too much seriousness already.”

“I agree. I love the kissing too, but— I just.” _Bite the bullet_. “I don’t want there to be any doubt about where I stand in this, either.”

“I think we’re already past that.” Soft thumbs rub little circles on the skin of Louis’ hips and it’s very hard to concentrate on anything besides that.

“What I mean is,” Harry chooses this moment to adjust himself between Louis’ spread thighs, making his pads rub against Louis’ not-so-soft dick through his sweats. “ _Shit_. What I mean is I want to take you home,” Harry grinds against his crotch again and _god-fucking-dammit_. Louis takes advantage of his hand still on Harry’s hair and pulls lightly. “Jesus christ, babe. I’m trying here, but don’t push me.”

“Spit it out, then.” Harry bites at his neck playfully, lathing the sensitive spot with his tongue right after.

Louis moans. “Fine. I want to do this on a bed.” He brings Harry’s face closer to his, taking notice of how red and swollen his lips have become already. They haven’t even started. “I want to spend hours relearning your body. Tonight. Right now. Can we do that?”

“Yes.” Harry swallows. “Yes, please.”

It’s like a match has been lit as they hurriedly get to their feet, Louis laughing at the way Harry stumbles against him in his haste to get going. “Shut up, you,” Harry mutters, lips curved in a smirk.

They decide to take Harry’s truck and, after stopping in the locker room so Harry could finally change into some normal clothes, they leave Louis’ car to be dealt with later.

On their way to Harry’s house, Louis texts his mom, because he knows she must be worried sick, after witnessing the circus that blew out at the end of the game.

**_everything’s ok, no one’s injured. might not sleep at home, tho. harry & i talked_ **

It takes her less than a minute to text him a string of eyes emojis. He snorts.

**_That’s good, honey. I’m glad y’all are ok. Also, tell Harry he’s invited for dinner tomorrow_ **

Louis is glad that it’s dark enough inside the truck’s cabin to hide his blush.

⬬

Maybe he should’ve expected some awkwardness. When Louis admitted that he intended to get reacquainted with Harry’s body, it really left no doubt concerning the plans for the night. Furthermore, they haven’t been close like this for almost a year and he believes that all the emotional baggage is somehow bound to haunt them, sooner or later.

However, when Harry parks the truck in the front yard of his house, all that Louis feels floating densely through the air between them is anticipation. He slams the metal door of the passenger side shut and meets Harry in front of the vehicle, immediately wrapping his left arm around the boy’s waist and arranging a place for himself under the comfortable weight of Harry’s arm. Working their way around the door’s locks is easy enough and soon they find themselves standing in the living room.

Louis’ hands are itching to touch skin — _Harry’s_ always-soft-always-warm skin — so he wastes no time before pushing Harry’s t-shirt up a little and running the pads of his fingers over the small of Harry’s back. He gets a full-body shiver and sequence of three brief kisses in response.

“I thought I’d never have this again,” Harry exhales in his mouth.

Louis chooses to ignore the way his stomach sinks briefly at that. “I’m here. I’m not leaving.” He runs his hands lower, slipping the tips of his fingers past the waistband of Harry’s sweatpants.

Harry’s mouth is suddenly urgent against his and Louis takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tilting his head and brushing his tongue against Harry’s slowly. He remembers how Harry gets caught up in the moment, frantic, electric, but Louis doesn’t want that today. He thinks they deserve a soft reunion. With that in mind, he removes one of his hands from Harry’s pants and raises it to Harry’s hair, threading lightly through the curls.

“We’ve got time,” he whispers into the space between their mouths.

Harry’s eyes remain closed, eyebrows pinched. Before he’s aware of it, Louis runs a thumb over the worry lines. He wants to get rid of them permanently. It’s not long before Harry’s expression relaxes under his touch. “Yeah,” Harry sighs. “I remember you saying something about a bed?” When he opens his eyes, they’re bright green.

Louis grins. “That would be great, yes.”

Without separating their bodies, Harry walks backwards, pulling on Louis’ hips and stumbling over the scarce furniture in the room. Louis chuckles lightly when he kicks a bench set in the corner, heading for the hallway. “Careful, love.”

Harry shakes his head, smirking. “Don’t laugh at me.”

Louis wants to kiss his teeth, so he does. That gets them going again, sucking and nipping and licking each other’s lips until Louis’ mouth feels sensitive, hot to the touch.

They soon clash against the half-open door of Harry’s room, making it slam against the wall. Louis’ hands find their way back to Harry’s plump ass, making him inhale sharply and arch into Louis’ body.

Harry’s bed is unmade, sheets bundled up and a couple pillows thrown every which way — obvious signs of a badly-slept, rough night. Louis caresses Harry’s jaw gently for that. A silent apology.

When the back of Harry’s knees finally bump against the mattress, Louis lowers him onto the bed before pulling back to take off his own shirt. Harry’s stare remains fixed on Louis’ chest the whole time, and the way he darts his tongue over his bottom lip makes Louis feel like he’s burning from inside out.

He joins Harry on the bed, fitting one knee in the space between his spread legs and leaning down to suck on a particularly tempting spot on Harry’s neck. That earns him a low moan and big hands reaching down to knead both his ass cheeks, spreading them apart over the worn fabric of his sweatpants. “I love these pants on you,” Harry says reverently, squeezing once more to prove his point. “Drives me crazy.”

Louis pulls back from his place between Harry’s neck and shoulder to rasp, “Take ‘em off, then. I want you to touch me.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. Harry immediately slides from under his body, flipping them over and fitting himself between Louis’ thighs. His hands go for the waistband of Louis’ pants straight away, while his lips suck open-mouthed, wet kisses along the line of soft brown hair trailing from Louis’ belly button to the inside of his underwear.

“Harry,” Louis gasps, scratching Harry’s scalp and gripping his hair tightly. His breath hitches when Harry grazes his teeth along the sensitive skin just above Louis’ underwear, his chin pushing Louis’ boxers down slightly to reveal the darker hair of his groin.

“ _Fuck_.” Louis’ head falls back heavily against the mattress, out of breath, as his hips raise up to meet Harry’s mouth. He wonders if he’ll survive long enough to see Harry’s wonderful dick again.

Harry suddenly seems to remember that Louis’ pants are still caught somewhere around his thighs, because he goes back to the task at hand, finally pulling them the rest of the way down. Louis is not surprised when Harry seizes the chance to nuzzle one of his ankles tenderly.

“I missed these.” He presses his lips to the inner skin of Louis’ left ankle.

Louis’ chest tightens with affection. “Come back here.”

At that, Harry crawls his way back up Louis’ body, hungry mouth opening Louis’ in a slow, deep kiss, smooth tongue sliding hot against Louis’ own. Harry is still fully clothed, though, and that just doesn’t do it for the Harry-starved part of Louis’ brain. They have to stop mid-kiss so Louis can pull Harry’s shirt over his head, their heavy breathing the only sound heard across the room.

He can’t help but run curious fingers over the newly uncovered muscles on Harry’s chest. He’s thought about it so often, usually after practice, when Harry would come out of the shower looking every bit like Louis’ wettest dream. He drags his fingernails along Harry’s hard stomach, savoring the moment and smiling wide when Harry lets out a throaty moan.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Louis breathes, voice quiet. “I kinda just want to look at you sometimes.”

“Not right now, hopefully.” Harry’s hands caress the fuzzy skin of his thighs and he has to take deep breaths to get through the heat waves that hit his body.

Louis rubs a foot along the back of Harry’s still clothed leg and hugs his tighter with his thighs, trying to get him to back down again. “Later,” he murmurs.

“Okay,” Harry gets the hint, leaning to brush their lips together.

Louis uses his feet to push the waistband of Harry’s pants down, hands too busy rediscovering Harry’s upper body. “Every second that you keep your clothes on is a second wasted.” He doesn’t mean to rush. Quite the contrary, actually. Louis thinks they should take long, satisfying hours kissing and touching and fucking, but for that they have to get naked.

He feels the soft puff of Harry’s chuckle against his cheek. “Could say the same about you,” he challenges as he slides his hands under Louis’ body and lifts his ass off the bed, proceeding to pull on his boxers just enough so they stay hooked on the bottom curve of Louis’ cheeks.

“You’re cute, but please get naked,” Louis begs. “I miss your dick. Please”

Harry’s giggle is almost enough to distract Louis from the view of Harry’s cock tenting his underwear, after he finally manages to take off his sweatpants. Almost.

“Oh, God,” Louis whines, fingers clutching the sheets. “C’mon, _c’mon_.”

Harry has a smug grin on his face as he pulls his boxer briefs to his knees, kicking it the rest of the way down. “You, too.”

Louis has already gotten rid of any unnecessary articles of clothing by the time Harry settles back on top of him, flushed cock swaying heavy between his legs. “Fucking finally,” he sucks Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth. “Tell me you have lube and condoms.”

“I have lube and condoms.” Louis doesn’t have time to answer before Harry wraps a hand around his cock, thumbing around the skin of his head. “I missed your dick, too.”

“ _Christ_ , Harry,” Louis groans, grinding up into his touch.

A second hand comes to press lightly against his balls. “And these.” His fingers travel lower, until they reach Louis’ opening. “Can’t even tell you how much I missed this.” He doesn’t dare to dip his finger dry, but he does tease around the puckered skin of his hole. “You’re the best one I’ve ever had, baby.”

Louis’ breath gets caught in his throat as Harry kisses his chin and jaw, the words making Louis’ blood burn something fierce in his veins. He has to close his eyes, because the feeling of Harry’s hard cock brushing against the crease of his thigh coupled with the sight of him, glassy eyes, swollen mouth and red cheeks, is tying Louis’ insides up in knots

“Haz,” Louis grits out. “Haz, babe, you gotta stop that— _Harry_ ,” Harry brings his other hand to Louis’ ass, spreading his cheeks open further. “Lube and condoms, babe. _Please_.”

Harry pulls back lazily and licks his lips, eyes fixed on Louis’ mouth. “I…” He licks his lips again, biting into the bottom one. “I was wondering if you’d let me do something first.”

Anticipation curls violently in Louis’ gut. A string of possible scenarios runs through his head and he shudders as some particularly filthy images take the forefront of his mind. He swallows. “What is it, then?”

Harry’s hands release their firm grasp on Louis’ ass to rub it gently instead. “Can I eat you out?” He looks so eager to do it, too.

Louis wants to answer. Truly, he does, but it’s like all coherent thoughts have left his body. They have only done it once, after an exceptionally successful after-game party, and Louis almost _died_. Considering that, at the time, he was so drunk that he was unable to fully understand why the sensations were hitting him so hard, he suspects that tonight he might actually perish.

When Harry’s expression turns unsure, Louis knows he’s taken too long. “We don’t have to, if you don’t wanna—”

“No!” Louis grabs his jaw and pulls him in for a frantic kiss. “I want to. God, I want to.”

He can hear his own erratic heartbeat when Harry smiles into the kiss. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

Louis nods dazedly, “Yeah, yeah. Do it. C’mon.” He leans in, capturing Harry’s bottom lip between his and sucking lightly. Harry’s tongue licks along the seam of Louis’ lips and coaxes his mouth open. It makes a shiver run down Louis’ spine, the thought of the same tongue easing him open in a different way.

“Turn on your tummy, please.”

Louis does, body buzzing with nerves. He presses his face into a discarded pillow and tries to organize his thoughts. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to raise to his knees, sticking his ass high in the air like he’s seen in some cheap porno, but he’s freed from that decision when Harry lays himself gingerly on top of him. One of his hands squeezes Louis’ left hip as his other hand runs through the hair at Louis’ nape, pushing the sweaty strands up to plant wet kisses on the skin of his neck.

Louis pushes his hips back against Harry’s thighs, moaning at the feeling of Harry’s cock getting caught in the space between his thighs. Harry works his way down the dip of Louis’ spine, covering the expanse of his back in open-mouthed kisses, while simultaneously spreading Louis’ legs wider with his hands. He reaches Louis’ lower back and spends half a minute licking at the dimples he finds there.

“My dick is sore, Haz,” Louis whimpers. To prove his point, he grinds down into the bed, gasping when the head of his cock rubs against the sheets, smearing precome all over the fabric.

Harry _finally_ moves to Louis’ ass, sucking and biting until the skin is littered with red bruises. He uses his thumbs to pull the cheeks apart and noses at the skin just above Louis’ crack.

"You feel so warm," Harry blows softly on his rim and Louis feels himself clench. _Fuck_. “I kinda just wanna...”

“Please—” Louis’ plea breaks into a low whimper when Harry licks a long stripe all the way from his balls up to the small of his back. Louis’ toes curl and his hips twitch.

After that, Harry starts actively tonguing him, mouth pressing firmly and wet tongue lathing lazy circles over Louis’ entrance. He can feel spit collecting in his crack, Harry’s breath panting against the damp skin and making him tremble with lust. Harry holds his hips still, licking into him with more intent until the tip of his tongue slips past Louis’ rim.

Louis groans, low in his throat. “ _Fucking hell_.” The words are muffled by the bedding as he props his forehead on his folded arms. He thinks Harry will just keep going, will keep teasing his hole with his tongue, but Harry pulls back, just a little, and, for one second, Louis thinks he’ll be able to breathe. Next thing he knows, Harry presses his tongue against the seam of his balls, sucking one into his mouth. That makes Louis cry out, surprised.

“Harry,” Louis chokes out, “I need— I need something. Please.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Harry presses a finger lightly against Louis’ rim, testing its resistance.

“I’ll get the stuff.” Harry kisses the inside of his left thigh. “Hang on a bit.” Another kiss on the right thigh.

The heat of Harry’s body is gone from his back, but he might as well had set Louis’ skin on fire. He feels oversensitive, like there are a hundred electric impulses running underneath his skin. His balls feel drawn up tight and his asshole is throbbing. He pushes up to his knees, just enough to relief the pressure on his cock, and that’s how Harry finds him when he returns.

“Fuck, baby.” Harry’s voice is hoarse. Louis feels the weight of his palm when he kneads one of his cheeks, his other hand reaching down to tug on Louis’ balls gently. “You’re unreal.” He grazes the pad of his thumb across Louis’ opening as his other hand moves to pull on his cock.

“Just do it already, _God_.” Louis pushes his ass back.

Harry chuckles, but it doesn’t take long for Louis to feel the cold drip of lube against this overheated skin, followed by one of Harry’s fingers.

The thing is. _The thing is,_ Louis hasn’t done this in a long time, almost a year. There’s been no one else he’s wanted to be this close to, especially considering all the other shit that’s been going on, with football and it being his last year of school. His body has basically closed off, notwithstanding some occasional wank-slash-fingering sessions. He’s sure Harry notices the tension in his muscles, the way he clamps tight around his fingers. He trusts Harry with his whole heart, but it’s hard to let go when sealed-shut has been his body’s default state for so long.

Harry is so careful, though. He handles Louis’ sudden shudders and spasms with utmost tenderness. While his right hand works Louis open slowly, the left one doesn’t leave Louis’ skin for a second, always caressing his thigh, his back, his ankle. Amid affectionate praises, his mouth paints a string of soothing kisses along Louis’ lower back. Louis feels vulnerable. He feels taken care of. By the time Harry pushes a third finger in, Louis’ eyes start prickling with the depth of his emotions. He thinks he must whimper, because Harry’s actions halt.

“Babe?” He sounds nervous. “Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

Louis turns his head to the side, cheek smushed against the bed, so Harry can hear him. “No,” he swallows and breathes in shakily. “I’m okay. You’re so good. I love you.”

“Oh, Lou.” He’s so lovely. Louis is so lucky. “C’mere, darling. Turn around, lemme see you.”

Louis stands on his hands and knees gingerly, Harry helping him turn around, so they can face each other. Once he’s laid on his back properly, chest heaving breathlessly, Harry cradles his jaw and thumbs his cheekbone. Louis grabs his other hand and brings it to his lips, pecking its palm.

“I’m ready. Did you get a condom?”

He watches, mesmerized, as Harry tears the condom wrapper open with his teeth and slides it on his length. Louis’ cock twitches in sympathy when he sees how painfully hard he is. Harry searches the bed for the discarded bottle of lube, quickly slicking himself up before resuming his position between Louis’ legs.

“Okay?”

Louis nods. “Yeah.” He crosses his ankles behind Harry’s back, his thighs hugging his hips snugly. “C’mon, love. Missed you.”

Harry pushes in carefully, not stopping until his balls rest against Louis’ ass cheeks.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry pants, leaning forward and putting a hand on the bed, next to Louis’ head. “Jesus Christ.”

Louis sighs heavily, pleased. He feels so full. Of Harry’s cock. Of Harry. Of happiness.

Harry’s brows are furrowed in concentration as he pulls back and immediately starts to fuck inside, shallow thrusts. The muscles of his arm strain as he hold himself up with one hand, his other one hitching Louis’ thigh up higher on his hip. It’s not long before he’s breathless, the rapid motion of his hips losing speed as he switches to deeper thrusts, arm flexing so he can rest on his elbow, bringing their faces closer together.

“I want you so much,” Harry rasps. “I want all of you, all the time.” His hair has fallen all over his face, his eyes hidden behind a curtain of curls. Louis is almost glad for it. He’s not sure that he’d be able to handle the full power of Harry’s gaze right now. He feels overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings, the limitless of his devotion; the wonderful sense of belonging somewhere, _with someone_.

Harry leans down, pecking his collarbones, his neck, his chin, before capturing Louis’ lips in a passionate kiss. The slow drag of Harry inside of him coupled with a unexpected hand wrapping around his dick turn Louis’ moans into whines and soon he feels himself clenching around the girth of Harry’s cock, heat building in his belly.

“M’ close,” he says against Harry’s mouth.

“Yeah, baby,” Harry nods, chest glistening with sweat as his thrusts pick up speed again. “So fucking gorgeous.”

Louis reaches for Harry’s hips, pulling him forward harder, faster. He comes with a muffled cry against Harry’s jaw, all his muscles seizing up as shoots hot stripes over Harry’s fist and stomach.

“Oh, God. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Harry exclaims, letting go of Louis cock to grip his thigh. “So tight, Jesus _fuck_!” His breath stutters and he squeezes his eyes shut, fucking in one last time before letting out a drawn out moan, coming hard inside the condom.

Louis huffs out a breath when Harry collapses on top of him, wrapping his waist in a lazy hug. He uses what little is left of his energy to bury his nose behind Harry’s ear, breathing in deeply. It takes a while for his heartbeat to slow down and he knows Harry feels just as winded, if the way his back raises and falls rapidly is any indication.

After a few minutes, Harry recovers just enough to pull out gently, discarding the condom before slumping down on top of Louis again. Louis squirms a bit underneath his weight and that’s enough for Harry to get the hint, moving marginally to the side, releasing some of the pressure, but still lying half on top of his chest, face pressed against Louis’ neck.

That’s okay, Louis doesn’t want him to move any farther.

“We have to shower.” He scratches Harry’s scalp lightly, pressing a kiss against his earlobe.

Harry hums noncommittally.

“My come is drying on your abs and sheets as of right now.”

“Can we take a nap first?”

“That defeats the whole purpose of a shower,” Louis argues, but his own eyelids are getting heavier, the warmth of Harry’s body a welcomed blanket. It’s been a hectic day, to say the least, and the weight of it all finally catches up to him.

Harry is already snoring softly when Louis mumbles, “Maybe a little nap,” just before drifting asleep.

⬬

It’s sometime in the middle of the night when Louis wakes up. They’re still pretty much in the same position, their skin sleep warm and slightly sweaty. Their legs are tangled together and Harry’s arm is still thrown over him.

Louis’ stomach growls all of a sudden and he understands right away why he’s woken up. They hadn’t eaten anything after the game — nor after the sex, for that matter. It’s a wonder it took so long for his body to complain. He wonders if there’s anything he can eat in Harry’s kitchen. He’d kill for some pizza. Or a burger.

He really has to shower first, though.

He tries to slip from under Harry inconspicuously, holding his breath and moving as slowly as he can. It doesn’t work, of course.

“No,” Harry protests sleepily, tightening his hold on Louis’ waist. “I just got you back.”

“‘M hungry,” Louis whines.

Harry sighs. Just when Louis thinks he’s fallen back asleep, he croaks out, “I think I am, too.”

His childlike candor makes Louis smile. “Okay, let’s shower. Then eat.”

Harry deliberates. “Is it really worth getting out of this bed, though?”

To reiterate his argument, Harry pulls Louis closer to him, wrapping his leg around Louis’ hip.

“I’ll wash your hair for you.”

“Tempting, but still not enough. This bed is very comfortable.”

“Once I’m clean and well-fed, I won’t have any reason to leave.”

“Hm,” Harry is trying to keep a straight face, but Louis hears the laughter in his voice. “Go on.”

“We could stay in this _very comfortable_ bed all day tomorrow. Sunday even.”

“Quick breaks for food and water?”

“Very quick breaks for food and water.”

“Deal!” Harry gives in abruptly, throwing both legs over Louis and making quick work getting out of the bed, pulling Louis with him. You’d never think he was asleep less than five minutes ago.

Harry’s shower is small, but they make it work, taking turns under the spray. Louis makes good on his promise, squirting a generous amount of shampoo on his hand and rubbing it delicately over Harry’s scalp. Just like an overly grown cat, he goes lax, forehead resting on Louis’ shoulder as his sleepy hands run up and down Louis’ spine.

There’s only one fresh towel hanging on the rack when they finish up, so they dry each other off as best as they can before going back to the room, Harry lending Louis a pair of his underwear before they head to the kitchen.

To Louis’ disappointment, there’s not enough in the cabinets to make pizza, much less burgers. In the end, exhaustion and laziness win and they content themselves filling two bowls with cereal and milk.

“Sorry for that,” Harry nods at Louis’ bowl, apologetic. “I know you don’t like Lucky Charms.” They’re sitting on bench stools next to each other. “I didn’t buy any more Cinnamon Crunch after you stopped coming over.”

Louis is still somewhat drowsy, skin warm from their shower and limbs heavy. It takes a while for Harry’s words to sink in, but, once they do, the cereal turns sour on his tongue. “‘S okay,” he swallows. “You didn’t have to.”

It’s like someone’s vacuumed all the air from the room, a tense silence taking its place. The only sound Louis hears is his own mouth chewing slowly. When he can’t take it anymore, he turns to his right and is met with Harry watching him with regretful eyes.

"I don’t mean to— I can see it on your face, when I say stuff like that.” Louis looks at him questioningly. “I don’t mean to make you feel guilty. We’re okay now, right?”

“Yeah. Yes.” Louis bumps Harry’s knee with his under the counter. “I just feel like I caused us both a lot of unnecessary heartbreak. I want to apologize all the time.”

Harry licks his lips, the skin between his brows furrowing. “I forgive you, or whatever. I know that wasn’t you asking for it, but I still want you to know that I do.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m ruining this,” Louis says, flustered, putting down his spoon. He’s not so hungry anymore.

Harry also gives up on his food, turning his body towards Louis completely. “Lou, look at me,” he pulls on Louis’ legs, turning him around in his stool, until they’re facing each other. “That night, when I said I needed to get my head straight, I really meant that.” His thumbs run small circles on Louis’ knee caps. “You were telling me all I’d wanted to hear for a long time, but fool me twice, shame on me, right?” Louis flinches at that. “But I made my decision. I decided you were worth the risk. That’s on me now.”

Louis shakes his head. “That’s on us, then.”

A little smile appears in one corner of Harry's mouth, a dimple punctuating his smooth cheek. “You scare the shit out of me, d'you know that? Not because of all that,” one of his hands leave Louis’ knee to gesture vaguely. “But because you make it seem possible, the life I never imagined for myself.” Louis’ face must convey his disapproval, because Harry shakes his head at him, fondly. “I know what you’re gonna say and I’m getting there. It’s just hard to see myself as the one who gets to have it all, you know?”

Harry’s hair is still wet from their shower. Louis tucks a stray lock behind his ear, moving down to cup his jaw. “I feel like I’d bend every rule for you, anything to make you happy. Whatever you want.”

“I want you.”

He sounds so sure. Louis smiles. “You got me. What else do you want?”

“ _You_.”

Louis leans forward, muffling his bashful grin against Harry’s forehead. “I love you.” He holds Harry’s face with both hands, kissing his temple, then his lips. “Thank you for giving me another chance.”

“Thank you for coming back to me.”

⬬

Practice on Monday is as brutal as you’d expect. Coach has calmed down significantly since the last time they saw him, but that just means a chastising mood has settled in. Turns out, the man considers running wind sprints up and down for _a whole hour_ to be highly educational.

“State champions have discipline!” He yells from his place at the bottom of the bleachers. “Y’all want that damn ring, then y’all better show some respect for this sport!”

Louis’ lungs are on fire, his feet barely managing to climb the next step before Liam catches up to him from behind, panting just as hard. He almost wishes the Trojans’ linebacker would appear mid-training and take him out again, just so he can be done with this.

“State champions don’t talk back, now, do they, Styles?” If Louis wasn’t on his way to death by exhaustion, he’d find Harry’s remorseful grunt in response to be funny. “You gentlemen can thank your high-and-mighty fullback for the extra time y’all are gonna spend in these bleachers. Y’all can use the opportunity to learn to shut up and listen when your coach is speaking.”

A very weak, “Yes, sir,” is muttered by a handful of players still not hyperventilating.

“Now, what we’re gonna do is, each of you is gonna keep running these sprints for the next fifteen minutes, and, when y’all are done, we’re gonna try to play some football, like the educated, civilized players that we are. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Jesus Christ on a stick,” Niall heaves in front of Louis. “Maybe we should’ve let them beat your ass, Tommo. This is madness.”

“It ain’t right, that’s what this is,” Liam complains.

“I can hear you whining like a baby all the way from down here, Payne!”

Two hours later, when the assistant coach finally blows the last whistle for the day, Louis allows his drained body to sink to the grass, lying on his back. He watches as his worn out teammates walk past him, heading to the lockers, but he can’t find within himself the energy to move. He sees Coach leaving the field as well, both assistant coaches in his heels.

He only has to wait a few more minutes before Harry’s flushed face appears above him, shading the late afternoon sunlight. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.”

“Are we spending the night here?” Harry jokes, walking around Louis’ body and stopping at his feet. “Haven’t you had enough?”

“That’s actually the problem. My will to live got lost somewhere between the tackle dummies and the hundreth run around the cones.”

Harry laughs, leaning down to grab a hold of one of Louis’ feet and raising it to his stomach, stretching Louis’ leg. He starts to massage the strained muscles gently as he speaks. “D’you think he got it out of his system? I don’t think I can handle another day with Tyrant Coach.”

Louis moans under his breath when Harry’s fingers hit a particularly painful spot. “Every day is Tyrant Coach day.”

Harry switches legs. “I can’t decide if I’m sad or relieved that our life as Falcons is almost over.”

Louis’ heart clenches in sorrow. He misses it and it’s not even over yet. “Sad. Definitely sad.”

Harry tilts his head, crestfallen all of a sudden. After a moment, he nods. “Yeah.”

The abrupt melancholic mood is not what Louis was aiming for. He wants the jokes and the laughs to come back. He pulls back his leg from Harry’s hands — despite how good that felt  — and stands up.

“C’mon, we gotta shower,” he wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, stepping closer. “Mom will not let you postpone dinner again. It’s her only day off, she has to work every other night this week.” Harry sighs, disgruntled. Louis pinches his hip for that. “You don’t wanna stand her up.”

“It’s just so much pressure!” Harry whines. “Have you told her I was basically raised by wolves? No one ever taught me how to use cutlery properly.”

Louis shakes his head, endeared. “You’re being an idiot.”

“I’m serious, baby. I don’t know what all those knives are for.”

That makes laughter bubble up in Louis' chest. “There’ll be only one knife and a fork, I promise. A spoon for dessert, at best.” He tightens his hold on Harry, pulling him closer. “She’s gonna love you, Haz. I’m sure she’s just glad I’m not moping around the house anymore and wants to thank you for it.”

Harry snorts. “Hardly. I’ve seen the looks she sends me when she can come to the games. Lottie too. I’m expecting a full-on interrogation.”

“Well, to be fair, you _are_ the first boy I’m taking home to meet them.”

“Good,” Harry says resolutely, eyes dark.

Louis should have appealed to his jealousy sooner. “Does that mean you’re gonna shower now?”

“Yes,” Harry pecks his lips briefly.

“Okay, good.”

“Okay, good.” They smile at each other, dumbly.

“C’mon,” Louis steps back, grabbing Harry’s left hand and pulling him towards the lockers. “Let’s do this.”

⬬

The final game of the season is against the East Texas Steelers.

Louis would like to say it is an ugly game, full of refereeing errors and unfair advantage to the opposite side, but it’s actually a beautiful one. Both teams leave their sweat and heart on the field, providing the audience — a packed stadium — with a spectacle that lasts close to an hour.

By the end of it, the scoreboard reads forty six to thirty nine. To the Steelers.

⬬

“You know you gotta leave this locker room sometime today, right?” Niall says as he folds the last one of his undershirts, a stuffed duffel bag sitting on the bench next to him.

“I am aware, Nialler. Thank you,” Louis answers, petulantly. His own bag sits still half empty on the floor. “Can’t I just enjoy my last moments as the Falcons’ captain?”

“Aw, twenty-eight. Don’t get all sentimental on me now,” Niall takes the few steps that separate them, throwing an arm over Louis’ shoulder. “You did a really good job, cap. I hope you know that.” This last part is said in a more serious tone. Louis appreciates it.

“Yeah,” he’s trying not to sulk, but it’s been hard. “Just wish it had been good enough to bring us State.”

“Nah, you’ll get ‘em next time. In your fancy college jersey.”

“And we’ll all gon’ be watching it from here!” Liam calls out somewhere in the back of the room.

“It’s probably gon’ be a day off, too,” Josh adds, having just finished packing and closing his locker. “Just imagine, you and Stan, two of Groves’ best, playing for the Tigers. Everyone’s gonna lose their shits.”

Louis’ heart fills up with gratitude. “It’s not gonna be the same, though,” Niall is still the only one close to him, so that’s who he pulls in for a hug. “‘M gonna miss you guys.”

“Just remember us when you have championship rings for all those fingers of yours,” Niall says when they separate.

“You say that as if you’re not going to ask me for tickets for every game of the season.”

Niall cackles at that. “At least you know it.”

It’s a nice atmosphere, despite the disappointing result of the championship. It’s been a hard week, a bitter pill to swallow, but Louis has resigned himself to appreciate the season for what it was. A lot of learning came with the responsibility of leading the team. Planning out private practices for Liam also taught him a great deal about understanding where your teammate is coming from and using that knowledge to build a stronger bond. And, lastly, if he allows himself to count the outcome of his relationship with Harry as a victory, he believes he might have won this season after all.

All these thoughts are running through his mind as everyone finishes emptying their lockers. Louis has done this before, at the end of every season he’s played, but this time is different. Most of the things he keeps in this room won’t have a place in his locker in Houston, little high school reminders that will lose their importance once he makes new memories. There’s one object, though, that he knows he’ll hold close to his heart for many years to come.

The bottle top still sits next to the photo of his sisters. He’s stared at it a lot these last couple of weeks, even considered giving it back to Harry, now that he doesn’t exactly need the lifeline anymore, but it’s never felt like the right time to bring it up. He guesses now is as good of a time as any.

He picks up the cap and puts it in the pocket of his sweatpants. Harry is lazily collecting his rolls of tape, a bunch of stuff still bursting out of his locker, and it’ll be some time before they can talk in private. He collects the last of his Falcon uniform, an away jersey and a spare pair of pants. He’s gotta return all of it the next day, every piece of gear that’s felt like a second skin to him for years, and he’s already dreading it. He considers stealing a pad or two, maybe a jersey, if he’s lucky. _Or he could ask Coach very nicely for it, whatever._

When he finally zips up his bag, heart heavy in his chest, Harry and him are the only ones left in the room. Harry has finished up a good ten minutes before him, proceeding to sit and watch as Louis went through his soul cleansing session.

“I think I’m done,” he says, dropping heavily beside Harry on the bench.

“Should I be prepared to deal with a few tears? Maybe I should’ve brought a box of Kleenex.”

Louis punches his arm weakly, pouting. “Don’t be heartless.”

“I’m only kidding.” Harry wraps an arm around his neck, pulling him in softly to kiss his hair. “I know how much this means to you.”

“I really don’t wanna leave.”

“I know.”

“It won’t be the same,” he says, again.

“I know.”

Louis sighs. “Can we do the barefeet thing one last time? I’m kinda hoping to bury all these feelings in the grass.”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I was thinking of it, too.” He looks around the locker room, thoughtful expression on his face. “I get it, you know? It’s a lot, letting go of all this. It’s been a constant, so important for so long... I don’t know how to not have that as a part of my life anymore.”

Louis wants to point out that football _doesn’t have_ to stop being a part of Harry’s life, he’s gotten offers as well, but he knows that’s a moot point. Harry is probably even more aware of those opportunities than Louis is. He’ll simply have to trust that Harry will know when it’s time to chase after one of them.

They step out of the Falcons’ locker room for the last time, bags thrown over their shoulders as their hands reach down to intertwine with each other.

The field lights are turned off when they arrive, so Louis makes quick work of turning them on before walking to the spot where Harry’s already seated. The boy has already taken off one of his boots and is currently zipping down the second one.

“Hey,” Louis calls out, sitting next to him. “Wait for me. This is supposed to be our thing.”

“I didn’t know we had ‘ _a thing_ ’,” Harry laughs, using his fingers as air quotes.

“We do. In fact, I wanna—” Louis reaches inside the pocket of his pants, taking out the bottle top. “This is another one of our things.”

He watches as every emotion plays out in Harry’s features when he recognizes the small piece of metal in Louis’ hold. Surprise, confusion, distress, remorse, love.

After what feels like a lifetime, he rasps, voice deep with feeling, “You still have that.”   

Louis nods, feeling emotional himself. “This kept me sane when you were too far away.”

He’s not surprised when Harry closes the distance between them, clashing their mouths together. It’s like a gut reaction for both of them, these days, to just act on what they’re feeling — especially when they stumble across a painful reminder of their heartbreak.

“Do you have any idea—” Harry kisses Louis’ lips again. “How much I love you?” The next time he pulls back, he keeps his forehead pressed against Louis’. “I’m madly in love with you. Completely out of my mind with it.”

Louis’ hands find their way to Harry’s biceps, squeezing lightly. “If I had known that all it’d take was this cap—”

Harry pulls him in for one more kiss. “You sentimental fuck.” Another. “You wonderful, lovely boy.”

“Can I take this as a sign that you don’t want it back?” Louis chuckles.

Harry licks his lips and bites into the bottom one, leaning back a little. “Maybe…”

“What is it, babe?”

“Do you think we can keep it with my other ones, in our place?” He’s bashful about it, like Louis would ever deny him anything. “It’d be nice to look at it sometimes, I don’t know.”

“Yes, we can. Of course we can.”

The weekend they got back together, they talked about their plans and expectations for the next few months. A lot of things were still left up in the air, both of them seeing no point in rushing into a future they knew barely anything about yet. One decision they made, though, was that they would move in together in September, when Louis would leave Groves for Houston.

The sight of Harry’s face glowing under the fluorescent lights takes Louis back to dozens of other nights spent in this field. Harry was right before. It’s really hard to say goodbye to this team, to the feeling of belonging, the familiarity of friends made a long time ago, back in Pee-Wee league. In the end, this is his home and it always will be. He knows that, twenty, thirty years from now, this is where he’ll want to go back to, with Harry by his side and, if he’s lucky enough, a family to call their own. Hell, maybe Harry will even find some inspiration in all the scolding he got from Coach and will decide to mentor the Falcons himself.

Louis smiles. He can see that happening.  

“Here’s to twenty years from now, Haz,” he tips an imaginary bottle in Harry’s direction. His own bare feet cold against the damp grass. “To living large in Texas, next to the love of my life.”

Harry’s grin in response is brighter than the lights shining upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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